Bonfire
by Katja1075
Summary: Soon after his return, Sherlock almost loses John in the Bonfire which causes a sudden outbreak of emotions on Sherlock's side. In the middle of this mess, Mary comes into play after Mycroft uncovers her true allegiance. Set at the beginning of series three. Eventual Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

**Bonfire**

* * *

 **Hello, dear Readers.**

 **Welcome to my first story in the Sherlock Universe.**

 **This story is settled around the beginning of series three and I'm messing about with the first episode quite a bit. This is how I wish this episode had gone :-)**

 **Please let me know what you think and hit the review button.**

 **Katja**

* * *

Chapter 1

The damned motorbike just wasn't fast enough. With Mary sitting behind him, he didn't dare driving any faster or she would have fallen off. When he drove down the stairs, nevertheless he found himself secretly hoping she _would_ fall off the bike, so that he could _finally_ drive at maximum speed. The prospect of John in danger almost made him lose the ability to think straight.

Time was ticking away and Sherlock felt like falling through a big black hole that seemed to consume him entirely. What if he was too late? _John, I can't lose you. Not now, when everything between us is unresolved._

Finally, they reached St. James's Park.

It was blatantly clear there was only place where John could be hidden. Under that bonfire that was about to be lit any moment now. He found the entrance to the park and stopped the motorbike.  
Mary and the motorbike forgotten, Sherlock ran as fast his feet would carry him towards the starting fire. Smoke was beginning to whirl around the stack of wood, single flames igniting everywhere.

"John! John!"

The desperation he felt could clearly be heard in his voice and people turned around to see him dashing was no movement beneath the pile of wood. He didn't care about burns or smoke. The only thing he cared about was John.  
Sherlock pulled the pallets away, the still very small flames burning through his leather gloves. He didn't care and didn't feel any pain. The first glimpse he caught of John told him that him that he was still breathing and coughing from the smoke. _Thank God_. With all the strength he could gather and the smoke thickening around him, he pulled at John's feet and got him out of the fire.

"John! John! Can you hear me? Please, John, open your eyes." His voice changed from shouting into pleading.

Ever so slowly, John finally did open his eyes.

"Hey," he said weakly, but smiling.

"God, John, please don't ever do this to me again," Sherlock said quietly and pulled John into his arms. Nothing had ever felt any better. Without thinking, he pressed a kiss on top of John's head.

Suddenly, Sherlock remembered that Mary was there, too. She stood there, looking down at the two men, her look murderous.

"How long?" she asked, her tone icy.

"How long _what_?" Sherlock asked her back, his mind still not catching up with the situation.

"Never mind," she said and bent down to John, obviously having decided to just ignore Sherlock.

"John? Please keep your eyes open. How are you feeling?" Mary shoved Sherlock's hands away and tenderly caressed John's face.

Sherlock felt a pang of pain running through his chest when Mary pushed him away from his John.  
 _How dare she? He is my best friend._  
He just never knew it could hurt this much to watch anyone else than him touch John.

Mary and John took a cab home where Mary would tend to John's injuries, which had only seemed minor. The injection he had received into his neck had been the major problem. It had stopped John's control over his muscles and the only cure was to wait until the drug was out of his system. John would be in a lot of pain afterwards and have sore muscles all over his body.

Sherlock was left behind alone in the park and slowly, he returned to the "hired" motorbike.

What was wrong with him?

Now that the immediate danger was over, Sherlock had to time to think about his reactions.

The prospect of John in danger had totally blocked his ability to think. An overwhelming fear of losing John had gripped him so tightly since the moment Mary had shown him the text message she had received and it only lost its hold now.

Mary, though. She had implied something after he had pulled John out of the fire and…had kissed him on the forehead. The memory returned with a bang. _I kissed John._

 _No wonder Mary looked as if she could have killed me on the spot._

Mary. Only now he realized that _she_ had been sent the skip code. And that she had recognized it as a skip code immediately. _This is not common knowledge for a nurse_. It was definitely time to find out more about her.

Slowly, he drove home, not bothering to stop by the Yard or Lestrade. They wouldn't be of much help anyway. This attack on John had seemed far too personal. He would phone Lestrade in the morning.

When he finally entered his living room at Baker Street, it seemed far too empty and silent. There was still dust everywhere from his two-year absence and it still felt like home, but one thing was dearly missing: John.

Sherlock shrugged off his coat and let himself fall on the leather couch. The skull on the fireplace seemed to be sending him mocking looks. _Back to being lonely?_ it seemed to ask him.

Only now Sherlock allowed himself to relax and the sheer relief that John was safe washed over him. Silently, tears welled up in his eyes and slowly trailed down his pale cheeks. _John is safe,_ he told himself again.

Mary is looking after him. _Something I should do,_ his mind supplied. _And why am I crying? I never cry. This is stupid. Stupid emotions._ It felt as if someone had untied a knot deep inside him and let him suddenly feel things he never had before.  
With nobody being able to see him, he let the tears fall freely and cried himself into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

John lay in their bed, next to Mary, and his head hurt. He still had difficulties breathing deeply but he knew he wasn't in any real danger any more. Sherlock had saved him in the last possible minute. Again. _Just how many times has Sherlock saved my life now?_

Mary seemed to be miffed with Sherlock. John just couldn't wrap his head around why she was angry with him. They had seemed to get along just fine when John had been (and still was) much too angry with Sherlock about him turning up so nonchalantly after two whole years of absence.

When they had returned to their flat he had asked her how they had known where to find him. Mary had told him about the text message and had shown it to him.

He was in awe how fast she had figured out the skip code. She had told him about the motorbike and the race to save his life. That Sherlock had pulled him out of the fire. And then she had said nothing more, although he didn't remember clearly what had happened when he had regained consciousness.

Mary had fallen asleep in the meantime. There was no way John would fall asleep soon.  
Things with Sherlock were still entirely unresolved. He had gone to Baker Street to talk to him and then it had all gone to hell. How could Sherlock just come back into his life like this? When he was about to marry and had only just gotten a grip on his life again? Bloody bastard.  
Still, seeing Sherlock's face as the first thing when regaining consciousness had given him so much relief.

Now, he was able to remember and everything came back with a flash. John had never seen Sherlock looking so worried before when he had opened his eyes.

 _I guess the sheer relief of seeing him must have made me smile at him._

John also realized that he hadn't asked himself where Mary was at that point. The emotion he had been able to see in Sherlock's eyes had been enough to calm him down and make him feel safe.  
And then Sherlock had pulled him into his arms and had kissed him. On the forehead. Something he had never ever done before.

John's hand went up to his head, touching the point on his forehead where Sherlock had kissed him.

 _Of course, this is why Mary left that bit out. She's jealous._

He almost had to laugh out loud. Jealous of Sherlock. Ha bloody ha. Okay, she didn't know him good enough to realize there was absolutely no reason to be jealous.  
Still, Sherlock had never shown such _emotion_ with him. Except that one time in the hotel near Baskerville, when he had admitted that John was only friend. But he certainly had never seen Sherlock kiss anyone, except perhaps Ms Hudson.  
John realized he was happy about Sherlock's reaction. It was the most honest thing he had done since his return. His face had been an open book in that very moment.

 _There must be a reason he has left me for two years, he really does feel something for me. It wasn't all a lie. I will let him explain tomorrow._

With a small smile on his face, John finally fell asleep.

* * *

Sherlock woke with a start at seven a.m. the next morning. He felt like a train had hit him during the night. His eyes were sticky and he was still wearing yesterday's clothes, smelling of smoke and gas.

He grabbed his phone and stood up from the couch. There had been a text from John a couple of minutes ago.

 _Can I come over today? We still need to talk. John._

Sherlock didn't need to think about his answer.

 _Of course. I'm home all day. How are you? SH_

He left the phone on the kitchen table and went straight into the shower, not waiting for John's reply.

* * *

John couldn't help but stare at his phone. Sherlock asked him how he was? That certainly had never happened before. "Home", he said out loud when he read Sherlock's message the second time. Home suddenly was Baker Street again, he realized. It was the only place that really ever felt like home for him. He forced himself to leave the thought alone and typed a reply to Sherlock.

 _Sore all over, but alive - thanks to you and Mary. See you in an hour. I'll bring breakfast. John._

He laid the phone back on the bedside table. Mary had already left their bed and seemed to be preparing breakfast. John had to tell her that he wouldn't join her. Slowly, he lifted his aching body from his bed. He felt like a train had hit him.

He headed for the kitchen, carefully setting one foot in front of the other. Every single muscle hurt. He needed an aspirin. Or two.

"Morning, love," Mary greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, but still quite sore. I'm going to take some aspirins; these should do it for the day." He paused.

"Listen, I will have breakfast with Sherlock this morning. I still need to talk to him about… everything. Can I take the croissants with me?"

Mary didn't reply, but nodded.

"I'll see you tonight. Sorry about breakfast." He kissed her and left.

Mary entirely forgotten as soon as he had left their flat, John went straight to the tube station. He was now very eager to talk to Sherlock. All the anger he had felt yesterday morning when he had gone to talk him was gone. Still, Sherlock would have to have a pretty good explanation for not sending him a _single_ word for almost two years.

John stopped at Tesco's for some tea, milk, jam and butter. He suspected there were still things in Sherlock's fridge that shouldn't be mixed with food.

Finally, he reached 221B Baker Street.

* * *

Sherlock was pacing in front of the fireplace, quietly talking to the skull on the mantelpiece.

"What if he has changed his mind and doesn't come to talk at all? Perhaps he's still angry with me…" He then heard the front door closing and instantly, Ms Hudson could be heard talking to John.

Sherlock took a deep breath and prepared for the upcoming conversation with John. He had never been nervous before when he was supposed to meet John and talk to him but today he was. He hadn't even been nervous in that bloody restaurant where John had been busy proposing to Mary and he had revealed himself in front of him.

The door opened and John came in with two bags in his hand. He seemed to be all right, though he held himself a little stiff. _Must be the yesterdays' drugs._

"Good morning, John," he greeted him, his voice scratchy. He cleared his throat.

"Morning, Sherlock. Oh, you've cleared the table, perfect," he said, setting the bags down.

Sherlock let out the breath he'd been holding. So John seemed no longer angry.

"I'll put the kettle on," he managed to say and disappeared into the kitchen.

 _Get a grip,_ he told himself firmly. _It's only John. Why am I suddenly so nervous around him?_

John followed him into the kitchen.

"I've brought tea and milk, I wasn't sure when you last did the shopping," John said, seeming also bit nervous now.

"Thanks." _This is awkward. As if I've never been away. Just like the old days._ Sherlock turned around to face John.

"Are you in pain?" Sherlock asked, his face betraying no emotion.

"Not particularly, but I've had two aspirins."

"Let's sit down. There are some things I need to say to you, John."

John nodded and retreated to the table with his plate and a mug of tea in his hands.

Silently, Sherlock followed him and sat down. Sherlock found the silence unnerving but now that he had announced he had some things to say, John only seemed to wait for him to start.

Sherlock took a sip of his tea.

"I'm glad you shaved it off."

John sighed.

"Is that all you were going to talk to me about? My bloody moustache?" He sounded angry and disappointed all in ones.

"No, sorry, I'm just at a loss where to start," Sherlock admitted, looking up from his plate and directly into John's eyes.

"How about explaining why you let me mourn you for almost two years, Sherlock?"

"You've been spending the whole time in mourning? But why? Didn't you get – you know – over me at some point?" Sherlock asked, his tone wondrous.

"For God's sake, Sherlock. Even you must have understood at some point that you were my best friend. And my only true friend. My other half. At least that is what I felt. It's now quite obvious you didn't feel the same way. Of course I've been mourning you." He paused. "I missed you, Sherlock. I missed the life we had together. You can't imagine how much." He added quietly.

 _Oh yes, I can now,_ Sherlock answered without saying it aloud.

"I had to be sure that you survived, John. I had to be sure I could come back to you," Sherlock said quietly.

"What are you talking about, Sherlock?" John asked, looking both hurt and confused.

"Moriarty. There were snipers. One for you, one for Ms Hudson, one for Lestrade. If I hadn't jumped, they would have killed you."

John said nothing, slowly progressing the information.

"But Moriarty was dead, what was the point in hiding two years?" He said after a long moment of silence.

"His network. I had to take down his entire network. It took me almost two years. During the last three weeks, I've recovered from my recent…injuries and as soon as I could manage, I revealed myself to you. I'm sorry though about the way I did that. I can now see that my handling this was…inappropriate." He paused.

"I hope in the meantime you were able to propose properly?"

"What? No, I haven't," John answered, looking surprised.

"Sherlock, are you telling me you did all this to save our lives? Mine, Ms Hudson's, Lestrade's?"

"Yes."

"And there was no way of letting me know any earlier that you were still alive? Through Mycroft or Molly?"

"No, John. Mycroft didn't even give me clearance to approach you this early after my return and Molly… no, I haven't been in touch with her in the last two years after she helped with my so-called "death"".

John let out a breath.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Sherlock repeated.

"I need to think about all this. But thank you for telling me."

With that, John picked up his croissant and finally started eating.

Sherlock had lost all his appetite.

He didn't know what to think, what to feel. Here he sat with John, having breakfast. He was no longer angry, but he also hadn't forgiven him.

 _Could I forgive him that easily if he had done the same to me? Probably not._

"John," he began, unsure how to continue. He wasn't used to having problems with saying what he wanted to say. His mind was overcome with the need to tell John how much John meant to him and how much he had missed him. John had admitted missing him so why couldn't he do the same? It couldn't be that hard.

"Yes?"

"I…"

"What is it, Sherlock?

 _I can't bloody say it. Damn._

"Nothing."

"Okay."

Sherlock's phone rang. He ignored it.

"Aren't you going to answer it?"

"No. I'll call back later."

"Are you going to take new cases soon?"

"Already got one."

"Yes. Want to come?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Would I have asked if not?"

* * *

Together, they left 221B and went down into the tube.

"Sherlock, why are we taking the tube? We never…took the tube before," John asked, trying to keep up with Sherlock's pace.

"Because the case is about the tube, John," Sherlock answered and left it at that, no further explanation provided.

The ride was spent in silence. John still tried to process what Sherlock had told him.

He had left the country for almost two years to save the life of his friends.

John was also still wondering what Sherlock had tried to tell him after that and had decided not to in the last moment. What had happened to Sherlock during these two years? It was quite obvious to John that Sherlock had changed.  
When he had revealed himself in the restaurant he had seemed as unfeeling and arrogant and above everything as always, but now? He almost seemed unsettled.

Sherlock hadn't told him where they were heading. And John had to ask himself why he had said yes immediately.

He should have gone back home to Mary and properly propose to her. Or preparing for his shift at the hospital that began at noon. Instead, he had right fallen back into the old habit of following Sherlock wherever he went.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Many thanks to my friend and beta Christine._

 _I hope you enjoy the next chapter._

* * *

Chapter 2

Sherlock and John left the Underground at Old Street in silence. Sherlock couldn't think of anything to say to John without betraying the emotional state he was in. He was beginning to wonder if he was still in his right mind.

Emotions for him were still only that: Human Error.

Until yesterday, he hadn't been aware of ever feeling anything like fear for another person – above all in this intensity. What had the danger John had been in unleashed inside him?

So here he was, walking ahead of John, at a loss of what to say to his best friend. He could have explained the case but he didn't want to foreclose what it was about until they could speak to the potential client together. So he stayed silent.

* * *

John couldn't think of anything to say during the tube ride. Silently, he had secretly stared at Sherlock's profile all the time. It was still hard to wrap his mind around the fact that he was really back and alive. The urge to touch him was almost so overwhelming that John had stuffed his hands into his pockets to avoid giving his feelings and uncertainty away.

The anger he had felt during the night when Sherlock had turned up so unexpectedly had evaporated. Sherlock's explanation for his two-year-absence had been short but to the point. Sherlock had left to save the lives of his friends.

So much for being a sociopath.

Although Sherlock was now back to not speaking. Just like in old times.

Perhaps he was already solving this new case within his Mind Palace.

They entered a building and rang the doorbell. But instead of a bell, the words "Mind the Gap" could be heard clearly outside the flat door. A man in his thirties opened the door and let them both inside his flat.

"I didn't think you would actually come, Mr Holmes. On the phone you sounded quite…uninterested. But I'm glad you came," he said to Sherlock.

"Mr Shilcott, this is my partner Dr John Watson," Sherlock introduced John and almost reduced John to tears after two years of not hearing those words.

"Hi, Dr Watson. I remember your blog. Come on inside, and please call me Howard." Mr Shilcott stepped aside to let them both inside his flat."

They came into a room that was mostly filled with an impressive model railway. At the end of the room Howard sat down before his computer.

"I'd like to show you something," Howard said. "I work at the District Line and my job is to wipe the security footage after it's been cleared."

Sherlock still seemed disinterested until he realized he recognized the man that had vanished in the London Tube system.

For their way back to Baker Street they took a Cab.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John."

"Are you taking the case, Sherlock?" John had to ask. He just couldn't stand the silence between them any more.

"I think so, and I need to figure out who that man was and where I have seen him."

"Do you want me to help?"

"Of course I do, John. Why do you keep asking that?" Sherlock asks and turns his head away from John.

"It's not me that has left for two years," John quietly mumbled under his breath.

"Listen John," Sherlock said quietly, "I am sorry about not getting in touch. I am sorry about everything that happened to you. But I am not sorry that I was able to save your life."

"It's not that I don't appreciate that, Sherlock. I only need to be sure that you don't do this again. I… would not survive that."

"I have no intention of doing this ever again, John," Sherlock said, looking him directly into the eyes.

"Right, thank you," John answered, his voice throaty.

"I need to get back to work, Sherlock. And, as you said, I still need to propose to Mary."

Sherlock left the cab at Baker Street and John directed the cabbie directly to the surgery, deep in thought.

* * *

Sherlock entered the flat and let himself fall directly on the couch.

What the hell was wrong with him? His stomach had practically churned when John had said he still had to propose to Mary. Why did the very idea of John being married, and most of all being happy with someone, disturb him so much?

He had decided since last night that he did not really like Mary, but if she gave John happiness, he would make an effort. For him, not for her. He still needed to acquire more information about her. It was time to call Mycroft.

He sighed and grabbed his phone.

* * *

John entered the practice and was immediately greeted by a smiling Mary.

"Hi Darling," she kissed him on the cheek. "Glad you could make it. Everything solved between the two of you?"

"Not in all detail, no. But the basics, yes," John replied after having thought carefully about his reply.

Somehow, the feeling of unresolvedness just wasn't going away, despite the explanation Sherlock had given him. John was still wondering what Sherlock had been trying to say earlier during breakfast but then had decided not to. He decided to ask Sherlock about it the next time he would see him. _Better not fall back into the old habit of just assuming what Sherlock might be thinking._

"So when will you see him again?" Mary interrupted his thoughts.

"Not sure, tomorrow perhaps." At least he hoped that, after not being able to see Sherlock for two entire years.

"Right, back to work," he added, turned and went inside his office.

* * *

"So you are not being able to find anything about Mary that goes beyond two years ago?"

"No, Sherlock," Mycroft told him on the phone. "Nothing at all. I will have my people do further inquiries. Do you know how John met her?"

"No."

"Tell him to be careful around her," Mycroft suggested.

"To tip her off? No, I won't. And I can't do this to John. She is obviously making him happy."

"So?"

"Oh, shut up."

With that, he ended the call. Privately, Sherlock had to admit that Mycroft had a point, but he really didn't want to do anything that disturbed John's relationship with Mary, whatever he might think about her.

He had done enough meddling with John's relationships before he had to leave and wouldn't do this again. John had to come to his own conclusions.

 _And what if he doesn't?_ In the past, he had always dated the wrong women, so why should it now be any different?

 _Perhaps because I wasn't there to disturb this particular new relationship?_

These thoughts were leading nowhere. And since when did he even care?

 _Since last night,_ an inner voice answered him. Right now, Sherlock decided he would have preferred to lose all the feelings again. All the things he felt since yesterday. The feelings he still could not name.

If he was really honest with himself, he was feeling jealous about Mary. She was now spending the time with John that he would normally have spent with Sherlock. But John had needed a job after Sherlock "died" and a new flat. And why should John end his job at the clinic as soon as Sherlock was back?

 _Because this is what I want him to do. I want him to spend all of his time with me. I haven't had his company in two years, so why did he even go to work today?_

Sherlock pulled the phone out of his pocket again and typed a message to John.

 _Any plans for tonight? SH_

John's reply took more than half an hour. Rationally, Sherlock knew that John most likely had patients to work with but he was not able to concentrate on anything than a beep from his mobile.

 _What the hell is wrong with me?_ He wondered for the millionth time. It's totally normal that it takes John a while to answer. _Especially when he has a life now that doesn't include me…_

 _Properly proposing to Mary. John_

Shit. He had conveniently forgotten this small matter again.

His phone beeped again.

 _What were you planning?  
_ So John was rethinking his plans.

 _Dinner. Without being beaten up by you, hopefully. SH._

It took John almost five minutes to reply.

 _Angelo's at seven? John_

Sherlock couldn't keep the grin from spreading on his face. So the marriage proposal obviously still had time.

 _See you there. SH_

Sherlock spent the afternoon thinking about the vanished man and waiting for the video footage that Howard had promised to send him. Perhaps he and John would be able to find someone when looking at it together again. _If_ John came by after dinner. He sighed. Because the chance that John would move in with him again was practically non existent.

And he still had no idea who had abducted John yesterday and put him into that fire. It was clear that this had all been a message for him. _But this soon after my return?_

He needed to talk to John about it. This morning they had completely skipped the subject. Finally, the clock neared seven and Sherlock put on his favourite black suit and the dark lilac shirt. He knew he looked good in it but if he had to ask himself, he couldn't say why this might be important tonight.

He felt queasy and doubted he could eat much tonight, but Angelo's had been a brilliant idea. The place they had gone on their first evening together, which now seemed a lifetime ago. So much had happened since then.

Putting his Belstaff on, Sherlock tried to push all his unwelcome emotions deep into the back of his mind and went to meet John.

* * *

John had planned to propose to Mary tonight after Sherlock's comeback had spoiled their evening. When Sherlock had texted him in the afternoon, he had somehow felt relieved he was given the chance to delay the proposal for another day or two.

Oh no, it wasn't that he didn't want to propose any more, merely the fact that Sherlock was really back and alive and here occupied his mind about a hundred percent during the day. He could think about nothing but Sherlock. There was still so much he needed to know about his two-year absence, so many things that were still unsaid between them. It simply wasn't fair to Mary to propose to her when his mind should really be rotating around her and not Sherlock. One thing after another.

His working day never seemed to end and on his way out he told Mary where he went. She didn't look too happy but he explained that he really needed to see Sherlock and she seemed to understand.

Of course, Mary would still be waiting for him to propose again but when it finally happened, he would explain it all to her. John was sure she would understand.

At half past six, he left his practice and treated himself with a cab ride. Mary owned a car but he suspected they would have some wine with the dinner and somehow, cab rides and Sherlock belonged together in his mind.

Finally, the cab reached Angelo's. John could already see Sherlock sitting at "their" table.

He looked…nervous? How could that be? Sherlock never looked nervous.

* * *

Sherlock watched John exit the cab and instantly met his eyes when he turned around. John smiled at him. That calmed him down instantly although he hadn't still quite understood why he felt nervous in the first place. Feeling nervous was also a complete new thing for him.

John entered the small restaurant and was greeted by Angelo enthusiastically. It seemed that John had never visited the place in the two years of Sherlock's absence. Interesting.

Finally, John came over and instinctively, Sherlock stood up to meet him and held out his hand. Which John simply ignored. And hugged him.

"Sherlock, it's good to see you."

"Ahem, yes. Hello, John," he answered while realising that he had subconsciously returned the hug.

John patted him on the back and let go of him.

Silently, they sat down.

"You've never hugged me before," was all that Sherlock could think of saying.

 _God, I am a mess. Better talk about the case or something._

"Seemed like the right thing to do, Sherlock. It wasn't a conscious decision. Sorry if I offended you, I know you're not a hugging person."

"It's alright, John." And it really was. He usually hated people touching him, getting close to him. But being hugged by John had felt – good.

"So, what have you found out about the case since this morning?" John asked.

"Not much, to be honest. Howard will send over the video footage and I have the feeling I have missed something very obvious this morning. Perhaps you want to take a look at it later? I could use a second pair of eyes," Sherlock said, his voice more casual then he felt. He _needed_ John to look at this with him.

"Of course, Sherlock," John replied without thinking.

They both ordered their favourite pasta and a bottle of red wine. John had obviously decided that it was now time to ask some of the questions that seemed to occupy his mind.

"Sherlock, can I ask you about a couple of things?"

"Of course you can, John, go ahead. I can see you're burning with questions."

"How are you, Sherlock?" He heard John's voice asking him. He certainly hadn't seen this one coming.

"What do you mean?" He asked back, simply to have some time to compose himself.

"I want to know how you feel after two years of absence. I want to know what happened to you. I need to know you're okay. Is that so difficult to understand?"

Sherlock sighed.

The wine arrived and Angelo filled their glasses in silence, watching the two reunited friends closely.

John raised his glass, as did Sherlock.

"To friendship?" John asked.

"To friendship," Sherlock confirmed and took a sip from his wine.

"I understand your need to know what happened to me during those two years. I can't tell you in all detail, as you surely understand.

I've been in a lot of countries, hunting down Moriarty's team and my last stop was in Serbia. It was the toughest stop in hindsight. Mycroft himself got me out. These men there tortured me so it took me a while to recover from that after I returned to England."

"What exactly did they do to you, Sherlock?" John interrupted him.

"They locked me up, no food, just a bit of water, and beat me up daily for information I denied to give them. Classic and quite unimaginative, really," he said, sounding detached and emotionless.

"God, Sherlock, how can you talk about it like this? Don't you have trouble – I don't know, sleeping, in dark places or anything?"

"Not really. I deleted most of the … bad things from my mind. You know that I am used to not eating. Only the thirst was a bit not good." Had been really bad, honestly, but he wouldn't tell John that. And of course he would not tell him about the nightmares.

"So Mycroft came and rescued you."

"Yes."

John now obviously deduced how serious the situation must have been if Mycroft himself had come and rescued his little brother.

"Where else have you been?" John didn't dwell on the subject, that was good. That was something he had always liked about John. Accepting the facts that couldn't be changed any longer.

"North- and South America, Vietnam and Korea."

"And you've been everywhere alone? Or did anyone help you?" John asked.

" _Who_ should have helped me?" Sherlock shot back immediately.

"I don't know. Did Mycroft not send you any help? Or someone else you know…"

"John, don't be deliberately obtuse. Mycroft only came to help me in the end because I contacted him before I went to Serbia. I sensed it might be dangerous there. As for the other countries… John, you know how I am. Who other than you would stand my presence for almost two years? Whom could I have trusted with all this? No, John, except than one or the other person that still owed me a favour, I did this alone."

Their food arrived.

* * *

John didn't know what to say and was glad about the food. So they both had been alone during the last two years. And all thanks to bloody damn Moriarty. Sherlock being so cool about this couldn't be good. Something definitely had changed within Sherlock, he had been able to see that this morning. And he was quite resolved to ask Sherlock what he had attempted to say during breakfast.

But that was a question for later in the evening.

Angelo still made the best Seafood Pasta in London and John took a moment to enjoy his meal. Sherlock only picked at his Spaghetti, just like in old days. He still was much too thin for a man of his height.

"Sherlock, you need to eat more," he pointed out loud.

"Angelo is still the best cook," John added between two bites.

"You haven't been here in the last two years, have you?" Sherlock asked.

"No. I just … couldn't stand it."

"Sherlock, do you have any idea who did this yesterday? Why drug me and put me into a fire? Do they want to get to you through me?" John deliberately changed the subject.

"I think so, John. But this happened very soon after my return so I'm practically in the dark here. I need to re-establish my network to find something out. I'm sorry, John."

"Whatever for?"

"That this happened to you only because of me."

John was sure his mouth stood open. Sherlock had apologized. Again.

"It's not your fault, Sherlock," was all he could think of as a reply.

Sherlock said nothing.

John finished his pasta in silence and poured them each another glass of wine. Sherlock had managed to eat half of his spaghettis, but was now pushing his plate away.

"So how did you do it?" John had to ask the question that was still burning in his mind.

"How did I do what?" Sherlock asked back absentmindedly.

"Oh, now you're the one being obtuse, Sherlock. The fall. How did you do it?"

"I thought it didn't matter."

"Well, as a matter of fact, it does. You were lying dead in my arms, you were bleeding and you didn't have a pulse. I saw you fall of that damned roof. Every fucking night during the last two years. Don't I deserve to know?"

John knew he was getting angrier than he should, after all this should have been a dinner to reconcile their friendship, but he couldn't help it now. Perhaps they needed this to make a new start.

Sherlock stayed silent, obviously thinking about what to say.

* * *

So John still wanted to know. In a way, he could understand. _It must feel like an unsolved puzzle to John._

He was right, he deserved to know, especially when it obviously caused him nightmares.

"Mycroft and a whole team of people helped me do it. You remember the man on the bike that hit you? It was all planned. You were out long enough so that I could jump – on a very large mattress – spill some fake blood over me and block my pulse with a squash ball in my armpit. All the people on the site were more or less actors. I heard you John, I felt you beside me and I can't say it was easy. I felt your ... distress."

"And were you at your own funeral?" John asked.

"Yes, I was." After a pause, he added, "And I heard you."

Angelo came by and took their plates.

"Anyone want a desert? It's so good to see you again, Sherlock. Never believed you were really dead. This lad obviously did."

They both shook their had.

"It's seem like everyone knew except me," John complained.

"You know it was for your own safety," Sherlock replied with a deep sigh.

"Thanks for telling me anyway, Sherlock. Perhaps this will put my mind at ease."

After a moment's silence, John cleared his throat and took a breath, but no words came out of his mouth. He clearly had another important question. Sherlock hoped he would be finished soon as it was getting harder to keep calm on the outside. His emotions were still in turmoil.

"Sherlock. This morning, when you told me why you had gone, you were trying to say something, but didn't. I know it's not good to push you but I really want to know what you wanted to say. I could tell from your face it was important, and I'm not going to let it go. If we want to be friends again, you need to trust me. Tell me things. So – what did you want to say?"

He had honestly forgotten John's perceptiveness during the last two years. And his willingness to trust him. The only man he had ever met to have made an effort in getting to know him, understand him, befriend him. John deserved an honest answer, regardless how difficult the answer would be for Sherlock.

Sherlock took a deep breath.

"I…," he began.

"You can trust me, Sherlock. With everything." Something warm covered his right hand.

"I was going to say," Sherlock began again, almost tumbling over the words, "that I have missed you, too, during these last two years. I realized that I no longer liked being alone all the time. I missed my only and best friend that I would ever have. On some days I wasn't even sure if I could ever return to you and I must confess on these days I was on the verge of using again. But I knew you wouldn't appreciate that so I didn't."

Very quietly, he added, "I would really appreciate if we could pick up our friendship again."

There, it was out and Sherlock felt – humiliated. Only now he lowered his eyes and saw John's hand lying over his. He immediately pulled it away, feeling like it had burned into his skin.

"I'm sorry," John apologized. "I know you don't like being touched. And thank you for telling me. It really means a lot to me," he said, his eyes shining.

Was John crying? No, that couldn't be.

And his touch had been soothing, without Sherlock really noticing it. He had only pulled his hand away because it had felt like his hand had somehow caught fire.

"Still want to look at that video footage?" Sherlock asked, desperately wanting to change the subject again.

"Yes, definitely," John answered, smiled and waved for Angelo to bring the tab.

The emotional crisis was over for the moment and pure relief flooded through Sherlock. John hadn't laughed at him and had not walked away after he laid bare his emotions.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks for the favorites and follows. But come on guys.. no reviews yet? Perhaps this can be changed with chapter 3?  
_

 _Many thanks again to my beta Christine._

* * *

Chapter 3

Back at Baker Street, John and Sherlock were watching the video footage what must have been the fifth time now.

"I am sure we are missing something. It's staring right at us and we don't see it."

Sherlock hit the rewind button again to watch the video for a sixth time.

"There, John, you see it? Finally found it! Seven carriages leave Westminster Station, but only six carriages reappear at St. James's Park. And Moran, the man in the carriage, disappeared right with the carriage."

"You know him? But where did that carriage go, Sherlock? It can't simply disappear right in the middle of London."

"We'll have to revisit Howard first thing in the morning and take another look at his maps."

"In the morning?" John asked, taken aback.

"Because now you need to return home to your – almost-wife," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"But…" John was at a loss of what to say to Sherlock. Typically, Sherlock would already be grabbing his coat, hurrying down the stairs to see Howard and his maps at once, no matter how late at night it was. Now it seemed that Sherlock actually cared about his personal life and that of others. Could he have really changed that much? And what had really caused that?

"What, John?" Sherlock interrupted his thoughts.

"Nothing, Sherlock. See you tomorrow morning at eight?"

"Yes."

John stood up and picked up his jacket. "Who is this Moran?"

"Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development," Sherlock replied absentmindedly and then added, "working for North Korea since 1996," without further explanation.

It was clear he would not get any further information out of Sherlock now. He seemed to have disappeared into his Mind Palace once again.

"Right. Goodnight Sherlock," John said and left.

What a strange evening that had been, John thought when he looked back at it, while waiting for a taxi to pass him.

The dinner with Sherlock had been a good idea and he was happy that Sherlock had asked him to spend the evening together. The talk they had had been cathartic for John and – as he suspected - also for Sherlock.

His confession about having missed John as much as John had, had almost brought John to tears. Sherlock had never talked about his feelings so openly before and it must have been quite difficult for him to say all the things he had said. Clearly, something must have happened during these two years that had changed Sherlock as much as it had.

Deep inside him, John knew he now truly had forgiven Sherlock "the Fall", his faked death and the less than stellar reappearance in that restaurant. Somehow, the behaviour on the night of Sherlock's return was completely different than it had been in the last two days, John wondered. The pain about Sherlock's betrayal was still there but now that he knew that Sherlock had also suffered this much from their separation and that it hadn't been all just a game for him had lessened it considerably.

Finally, a taxi came by.

It was almost midnight when he finally opened the door to their flat. All lights were switched off so Mary was already in bed.

Quietly, John poured himself a generous amount of whisky and sat down on the new couch, which seemed not half as comfortable than his old armchair back at … Baker Street. He had almost thought… _home_.

After a very short night of sleep, John's alarm went off at 6.30am. He groaned and tried to shake off the feeling that he had only fallen asleep a couple of minutes ago.

In the kitchen, he encountered Mary, sipping her tea and munching on a piece of toast.

"What are you already doing up, John? Your shift only starts at twelve?" She asked, her tone not entirely friendly.

"I'm meeting Sherlock at eight," he explained.

"And good morning to you, too," he added and kissed her forehead.

"Is it?" She just asked him back.

"Is it what, exactly?"

"A good morning." Her tone was icy now.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean that you returned around midnight last night, came to bed only hours later, and now you are dashing off again to meet _him_ ," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes, I am. Something happened in the Tube system and we are going to investigate."

"So he's back – what – for three days now – and you're already back to investigating with him?"

"Are you jealous, Mary?"

"Don't know. Should I be? After all you two were on some kind of date together last night…"

Sometimes, women were really incredibly stupid. John sighed.

"I went to have dinner with my best friend which I haven't seen in almost two years. And we're trying to repair our friendship. You didn't even ask how our evening went. I thought that you liked him, Mary."

"Yes, I do. I just don't understand why you have to be back to saving the world with him only three days after he's returned. You already have a job and a life."

She certainly had a point there, John had to admit to himself.

"Listen, Mary, I don't have time for this now, but let's talk about all this over dinner tonight, okay?" he tried for a peace offering.

She let out an audible sigh.

"Alright, John."

The rest of their breakfast was spent in an uncomfortable silence and John's thoughts kept wandering back to Baker Street and last night.

After their dinner it had felt like the last two years had not happened at all. Everything was in its place, a fire was lit, and Sherlock and him had looked at a case together. It had been domestic... and perfect.

 _Right…back to present. Sherlock's return still seems to be overwhelming me…,_ John willed back his thoughts. _This is really unfair to Mary._

And still, he couldn't make himself apologize to her for being so damn happy that his best friend was back.

* * *

Sherlock was pacing impatiently around his kitchen table. It was five minutes to eight and John _still_ wasn't here.

If he asked himself, he still couldn't find an explanation why he had let John return home to his soon-to-be-wife instead of solving the case immediately.

In broad daylight it would be much harder to disappear into the tube system. Because this was what they would be doing as soon as John was finally here.

The front door opened. At last!

The stairs creaked and John entered the flat, looking incredibly tired.

"Morning John, ready to go?" He asked in his most chipper voice, decidedly not going into John's obviously bad night.

"Oh yes," he answered, his face lighting up instantly.

After another visit to Howard Shilcott and an intense look at his maps, Sherlock had memorized them perfectly and they dashed of to the Westminster Tube Station.

The corridors were packed with people and Sherlock opened the maintenance entry with a screwdriver without being noticed by anyone.

They hadn't talked much since they had left Baker Street. John seemed to be determined to come with him whatever might come up today. It was fairly obvious to Sherlock he had been fighting with Mary. Most likely about him, he deduced.

Sherlock also hadn't gotten much sleep during the night. The dinner with John had left his mind buzzing.

He had opened up to John yesterday like he never had before with anyone else. Not even with John before he had left. He had let him see at his most vulnerable state. Needy and emotional. The two things Sherlock was not good at, nor familiar with. John had neither laughed at him nor had he walked away. He had touched him and given him solace. And he was still there.

The rawness Sherlock had felt through the entire day was gone after that dinner and his confession. Could it really be true? Talking about one's emotions did actually help?

And one again his thoughts had drifted away while on a case. He shook himself. What was it with him and John that threw him completely off track?

Thinking back to Westminster Tube Station, he realized there had been a lot of people in distinctive clothes heading in the direction of the Parliament exit.

It was a Parliament day today and thinking back to the newspaper he had thrown aside this morning as he had been waiting for John, it had somewhere said that today was the day of the vote on the new anti-terrorism bill.

His mind put all the pieces together automatically while he and John were heading down the tunnel. It had to be a bomb.

"John, this could be dangerous," he said slightly breathless.

"And that's new how exactly?" he returned over his shoulder.

"The missing carriage is a bomb."

"So we have to find it rather sooner than later. Come on, Sherlock, according to the maps, it can't be much further until we reach the passage that brings us downwards," John replied as if he hadn't understood what Sherlock had said.

"But John, we could die down there. Didn't you hear me? It's a bomb," Sherlock tried again.

"And if we don't find the bomb first, more people will die than the both of us," John replied.

They finally reached the passage and climbed down the ladder.

Sherlock was actually at a loss of what to reply to John's last sentence. It seemed that he wasn't the only one who had changed in the last two years.

"You amaze me, John Watson," he uttered quietly.

"What, Sherlock?" John cried down over his shoulder.

"Go faster, John Watson," he said, louder now. "I don't think we have much time to spare."

They dashed along dark corridors and finally reached the never opened station platform.

No carriage to be seen.

Sherlock growled. His hands flew up to his temples and he closed his eyes.

 _Think!_ He commanded himself.

Moran was a terrorist and with what Mycroft had told him about his activities, the parliament was an obvious target. Paired together with the missing carriage right under the Parliament, it had to be a bomb, but where had the damn carriage gone?

He went back to the maps he had memorized at Howards flat this morning. The rails led to a point that would lead to St. James's park station through an unused tunnel.

The tunnel would lead them directly under Big Ben and the House of Parliament.

He opened his eyes.

"This way," he said und jumped down on the tracks.

"You sure?" John asked.

"Yes, just avoid the rails."

"Yeah. Great."

* * *

Without any further comment, John jumped down and jogged after him.

"Have you informed the police about this?" John asked.

"No time, John," was all he got for a reply.

 _Just great,_ John thought, _just like in old times. I follow him without thinking. Why didn't I think of calling the police? Why do I still rely on him in such things when I know better…._

The trails and the tunnel made a slight bend ... and there it stood, the abandoned carriage.

It was lit and looked empty.

"Careful," Sherlock said quietly while checking the door for any kind of detonator. They both found none and opened the door.

The carriage also looked empty on the inside. It couldn't be.

John went down on his knees and carefully lifted a seat. There it was.

Sherlock checked the other seats. The whole carriage was a bomb.

"So, how do we stop this thing from going off, Sherlock? Any ideas?"

"We have to find the off-switch," came for a reply as Sherlock continued to lift every seat.

"The off-switch?"

"There's always an off-switch, John."

"Then we should find it soon, because I don't want to die down here."

"I totally agree, John."

"This isn't funny, Sherlock. I left Mary this morning after we argued, and I still have to make it up to her."

"I wasn't being funny, John. I don't want to die down here either, with you not having forgiven me for my "death" and our friendship still unrepaired," he replied, emotion now clear in his voice.

He stepped over to John to say more but the floor underneath his foot made a squeaking sound.

Immediately he knelt down, retrieved the tool kit from his coat and carefully opened the lid on the floor.

The timer said 2:00 minutes, counting downwards.

John sucked in a breath and knelt down beside Sherlock.

"Where _is_ that fucking off-switch?" He grabbed his torch light and flashed down on the heart of the bomb.

1:55 "For the record, Sherlock, I have forgiven you, how could I not? You're still my best friend."

1:45 After a moment's silence, Sherlock finally found his voice again. "Thank you, John."

1:40 "Now find that damn off-switch, Sherlock."

1:38 "I am trying, John! Step back, I can't see anything down here."

Sherlock was scanning the tubes and cables hectically and with increasing panic.

1:25 "Found it!"

The clock stopped.

John let out the breath he'd been holding. Sherlock was still kneeling on the floor of the carriage, his head down, and he was still obviously monitoring the bomb.

"Sherlock? Get up. It's over."

Sherlock didn't move, but now John could still that his shoulders were shaking. John knelt down and put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

 _He can't be… crying?_

"Hey, it's over, Sherlock."

Sherlock sucked in a breath when John put his left hand on Sherlock's other shoulder.

"Get away from me, John," he said in a sharp but shaking voice.

"No, Sherlock. Whatever it is, it's going to be okay."

In the old days, Sherlock would have gotten up, laughed and run for the next case.

 _What the hell had happened in those two years?_

* * *

John's grip on Sherlock's shoulders was still iron-hard. He wasn't going to let go, Sherlock realized. Not until he had given at least some explanation for his behaviour.

John had forgiven him, and the relief he felt about that was enormous. So enormous that tears had found their way into his eyes.

He hadn't cried in more than fifteen years until yesterday, and he certainly didn't want to start doing it again in front of John.

John's breath now was directly beneath his ears.

"Sherlock," he breathed.

Sherlock was suddenly being fed up with pretending to be strong and without emotion.

Slowly, he lifted his head and found John's eyes.

"You have forgiven me?" He asked and realized his voice was still shaking.

John looked at him, his expression confused.

"Yes, Sherlock. Of course I have. How could I have not, after last night. Come here, you stupid sod."

And with that, John put his arms around him and hugged him. Just like that. Sherlock had never felt more secure in his life and slowly put his arms around John as well.

It was an awkward position, with them both kneeling on the floor of that carriage, but they both didn't care.

"I really am sorry, John. I think I understand now what I did to you," he quietly said into John's hair. It smelled good, he realized.

"Come on, Sherlock. Let's get up. We still need to call Lestrade about this. Or your brother."

And just like that, the moment was over and Sherlock felt like a weight had been lifted of his shoulder.

"I already texted Lestrade on our way down, John. If his men can find their way, they should arrive here any minute, including a bomb squad."

Before John could answer, voices could be heard in the tunnel.

"Thank you, John. For forgiving me."

With that, he turned to face the police and stored all his emotions away the best way he could. There would be enough time to sort it all out later.

* * *

Of course, John was being late for his shift. He entered the practice at half past one and was immediately greeted by a heavily annoyed Mary. He had texted her after they had found the bomb that he would most likely be late, but hadn't told her the exact reasons.

She had of course heard the news of the prevented bomb attack on the Houses of Parliament and that none other than the recently returned Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr John Watson were the ones responsible for it. She was furious and she didn't mind the patients in the waiting room enough to be quiet about it.

"What the hell were you thinking, John? You could have died down there!" She greeted him as soon as he was through the door.

He sighed inwardly. He had anticipated her being angry but also perhaps a bit more relieved that he was safe and sound.

"A lot more people than the two of us could have died today, Mary. And I'm happy to see you, too," he snapped at her, truly annoyed now, and went into his office.

After a few more calming breaths, he called in his first patient for the day.

The day in the hospital never seemed to end and John was bone-tired when the clock finally showed six o'clock. During a short break in the afternoon, Mary had come in and apologized for her behaviour. She told him she had overreacted out of fear for him and the fact that she had been shocked by the news that they had only survived because they had found the bomb just in time.

John had explained to her that they couldn't have known what exactly was down there in the Tube system and that he should have called her right after they had arrived at Scotland Yard.

In the end, she had forgiven him and he invited her to dinner in a nice Indian restaurant tonight.

If he was honest with himself, the only thing he wanted was to curl up in his bed and sleep.

Shortly before six o'clock, a text from Sherlock arrived.

 _S: Are you still at work? SH_

 _J: Almost finished. John_

 _S: Dinner with Mary tonight?_

 _J: Yes. How do you know?_

Inwardly, John sighed. Of course, Sherlock would have deduced that after he had told him about their fight in the morning.

 _J: Forget I asked that._

 _S: Lestrade wants to see us again tomorrow. Can you come to the Yard?_

 _J: Of course. I have the day off tomorrow. When do we meet?_

 _S: Be there at 11 am. SH_

 _S: And good luck tonight._

Sherlock wishing him good luck with his date with Mary? John could only shake his head at the thought.

He thought back to this morning. Sherlock had been overly emotional about John having forgiven him. He had hugged Sherlock by impulse but would have never expected for Sherlock to hug him back this tightly. It had felt truly good to have his friend back and he had to admit, he liked this new open and more emotional version of Sherlock. Who didn't shy away from being touched by him anymore and didn't hide his emotions any more. Also, being able to touch Sherlock, made his return after two years even more real.

 _Right, back to Mary,_ he directed his thoughts.

The last patient was still waiting for him outside and after that, he had to truly make it up to Mary.

An hour later, he and Mary met in front of the Indian restaurant in their neighbourhood.

"Hi, Darling," he greeted her and kissed her on the mouth. She responded, but not with the enthusiasm he had hoped for.

"Hi, John," she smiled at him after the kiss had ended.

Inside, they ordered some wine and lamb curry. While they were waiting for their food, John pushed all the tiredness he felt away and gathered his thoughts.

"Mary," he started, "I am truly sorry about today. It's kind of hard to explain what happened this morning. Sherlock and I knew there was something going on with this train carriage and only when we went down into the tube system and saw all those people heading to Parliament we realized the true danger," he said in one breath.

"Stop," Mary ordered him. "Just stop right there. John, I don't think you understand my problem here."

John felt irritated. What was she getting at?

"Then tell me, Mary."

"It's okay you've saved all those lives today. You are being my hero for that. I was worried and I let it out on you and I am sorry about that," she said.

John felt even more confused now. The waiter returned and served the wine and the water.

"Then what is it?" he urged her.

"It's you and Sherlock. I meant what I said this morning. He's back for only three days and you are in mortal danger. How often have been in this kind of situation in the last two years, when he wasn't here? Is he worth that? You have a partner now and I was under the impression you'd like for me to stay in your life. But as soon as he calls you're running after him like a little puppy. I know he is your friend and you're happy to have him back. But does everything have to be exactly like it was before he left you?"

 _Yes, it has,_ John's mind answered on his own. He didn't even have to think about it. Because his life had been dull in the last two years, with the exception of Mary stepping into his life six months ago. Sometimes he had been sure he would die of boredom and sadness.

Working in the practice was only a means of earning money but nothing more to him. The life he had been leading with Sherlock had been exciting, unpredictable, sometimes dangerous but never dull. Not once.

"Ah, I can see that is the problem," he heard Mary saying.

Their food arrived but John had lost all of his appetite. He knew he had to say something.

He tried the food just for the sake of having more time to think about his answer. Mary was right – in absolutely every single damned point she had made.

 _Honesty is the only thing that's going to save me here,_ John realized.

"Mary, you're right. In every single point. My life was dull and bleak after Sherlock was gone. The job in the practice was really only a job to pay the rent, nothing more. Then I met you and this was honestly the best thing that could have happened to me. But now that Sherlock's back… I'm confused. It's almost like he never was away, and it feels like that only a couple of days after his return." He took a breath.

"I want to be honest with you, you deserve that." Another breath.

"I can't really express how very happy his return has made me and how good it feels to feel the excitement again. Just to be able to see him every day. And he has changed, Mary. He's talking about his feelings, lets me touch him. Something's happened to him and I still need to understand what changed him."

"Go, on," Mary encouraged him. She didn't look upset. Yet.

"I know this isn't fair to you, Mary. I was going to propose to you on the night he returned; I know you've figured it out, no need to pretend. I still want to do that but I right now it wouldn't be fair to you. My mind is completely occupied with Sherlock, to be honest. And despite the danger we've been in today, I haven't felt this alive since … he left. This is how I feel and I can't help it and I'm sorry, Mary. I truly am."

For a while, neither of them said anything and tried to eat their curry.

John felt unnerved by her silence and he wondered what else he could say.

"I want you to know that you brought light back into my life, Mary…"

"John, stop. I know that, but I'm also aware that I didn't make you as happy as his return did."

She wasn't wrong, he realized.

"I have a suggestion for you," she continued as if what she had just said had not any bigger meaning for their relationship.

"You do?" He still couldn't believe she was still talking to him after all his … honesty.

"Yes, John. You will see Sherlock tomorrow?"

"Yes. We meet up at Scotland Yard to close the case."

"I suggest you spend some time alone together, you and Sherlock. With you working and him just returned, I think there are still a lot of things you two need to talk about."

"Guess there is," John confirmed.

"Just take a week or so and spend it with him somewhere, talk through your issues. And then come back to me, John. For real then. You need to decide how you want to spend your future with me, how you want to live your life and how big Sherlock's part will be in it. I can't tell you how to do that, I just need you to be with me when you return. And that means not only physically."

 _God, is Mary becoming my new therapist,_ John couldn't help but think. But her idea had merit and he was already looking forward to spend some uninterrupted time with Sherlock.

"I love you, Mary. I will speak to Sherlock tomorrow."

* * *

Sherlock stayed longer at Scotland Yard than John had. John had told him he would go to Baker Street and prepare some tea as he needed to talk to Sherlock about something. Lestrade wanted all the details again and again. It was tiring, really. As if repeating everything over and over again would really make any of Moran's motives clearer. Mycroft had the man in his custody and he would find out what there was to find out. He was getting impatient.

"Lestrade, please stop pestering me with the same questions over and over again. Are you this stupid these days? And I had hoped things had improved during my absence. I am going to leave now," he said and stood.

"Sherlock, please," Lestrade begged him. "Just one more thing."

"What?" Sherlock snapped.

"Firstly. Everything alright with you and John?"

"Yes. Is that of any importance for the case?"

"No. Just personal…interest."

"Then leave this between me and John, Lestrade. Secondly?"

"We are just being thorough in our work. It certainly wouldn't hurt you to be a little more cooperative these days. Even you could miss a detail in the aftermath of being this close to being blown away by a huge bomb. Weren't you afraid down there, Sherlock?"

"No," he lied.

"Oh come on, Sherlock. Even I could see you were shaken when I arrived down there," he tried again.

Since when was Lestrade observant?

"I am alright, Lestrade. Thank you for your…concern."

With that, he turned and left, eager to hear what John needed to speak to him about.

After he had called Mycroft to get an update on the case, his thoughts drifted back to John.

John had been in good spirits when he arrived at the Yard. Mary had obviously forgiven him and he looked happy again. Truly happy. Had he proposed again last night? Was that what John wanted to talk to him about?

He took a cab back to Baker Street and his thoughts took a happier turn.

John had truly, honestly forgiven him. Everything was back to normal between them. Or was it?

Two years ago, things had certainly felt different. Less emotional, less happy, less upsetting, less… everything.

He had felt true friendship between him and John and he was still the only human being he completely trusted.

All these short encounters between his work, having to get back to Mary and perhaps the one or the other new case would not leave him satisfied, Sherlock realized.

Since John wasn't living with him any longer and was not likely to move into Baker Street again, they wouldn't have as much time as they had earlier to just enjoy the other one's company. Even when nobody had been speaking for hours in the living room or Sherlock had played the violin for hours.

It felt lonely back in Baker Street without John.

Finally, the cab reached Baker Street and Sherlock ran up the stairs to meet John for tea.

He found John sitting quietly in his old armchair, reading some kind of magazine, sipping his tea. A second steaming mug stood on the table in front of Sherlock's chair.

John turned his head and smiled at Sherlock.

"Ever been on a holiday?" he asked.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N Sorry for the delay in posting the next chapter.. I've been on holiday :-). Hope you enjoy this one._

* * *

Chapter 4

„Holiday? What could be more boring? Why would I go on a holiday?" Sherlock asked with a surprised look on his face.

"I don't know. To see other places? To learn from different cultures?" John replied, already wondering if Mary's idea really could be helpful.

"Different cultures? I definitely had enough of that in the last two years. Where is that suddenly coming from, John?"

Sherlock took off his Belstaff and sat down in his chair, taking his tea.

"I had dinner with Mary yesterday."

"I figured as much. From the look on your face this morning, I take it went well?"

John was not able to interpret the look on Sherlock's face nor the dismissive tone in his voice.

Sherlock sipped from his tea.

"This is really good, John."

"Yes, it went okay yesterday. Mary and I had dinner at our favourite Indian place. However, she was quite clear on some things." John paused, unsure how to continue.

"Such as?" Sherlock inquired.

"Us." John took a breath. He had intended to make this conversation light and happy, but somehow, Sherlock's initial reaction had thrown him completely off track.

Sherlock waited patiently for John to continue.

"Mary is acutely aware how much my mind is currently occupied with thoughts that revolve entirely around you. You know, since you came back, the only thing I can think about is you…"

* * *

Sherlock's heart nearly missed a beat after John's admission. _John is thinking about me all the time?_ _And why causes this a reaction in me? Perhaps the holiday is not such a bad idea?_

He realized he still needed to answer John.

"So, where do you suggest we go?"

"I understand you don't want to go abroad again so soon after you've come back. What do you think about Cornwall?"

"Cornwall? Of all places in England, you want to go to Cornwall?"

"What's wrong with Cornwall?" John asked, slightly exasperated now.

 _What is wrong with Cornwall, indeed?_ Sherlock asked himself. Beautiful scenery, romantic landscape…

"Isn't it a place you'd rather visit with Mary?"

"Why would I?"

John could really be thick at the most inconvenient times.

"Because it's supposed to be quite romantic there, John."

"It's also quiet and still beautiful in winter, Sherlock. And what's wrong with romantic, anyway? If I like it, I can still go with Mary at a later point."

 _That you can, indeed,_ Sherlock answered him silently.

"Have you ever been there, Sherlock?"

"Only when I was a child, but I can't quite remember. And what would you want us to do there, John?"

He still had no idea what to do on a holiday – it just had to be boring as hell. No cases to be solved, too much time to think… and all the fresh air.

"You have no idea what to do with yourself on a holiday, do you? I thought we could catch up properly, talk, take long walks, a little sightseeing, just spend time together. Two years are a very long time, Sherlock."

Catching up sounded good to Sherlock. Spending time with John, all alone, too. Perhaps he could really survive a holiday. It was worth a try. For John.

"If you really want to do this, John, I will go on a holiday to Cornwall with you."

A huge smile lit up on John's face, interrupting his train of thought. _Does this really make him so happy?_

"When would you like to leave?"

"Next Saturday? I'll take care of the bookings, you just have to be ready on Saturday with your bags packed for a week."

And that was all there was to it. John had convinced him to go on his first holiday ever in less than five minutes. He really didn't want to leave Baker Street again so soon after he had only been back for two weeks in the country. But the option of having John all for himself for a week had persuaded him in no time at all.

Of course, after that week it would be a lot harder to return to an empty Baker Street again, but one thing after another.

* * *

Friday evening, John was packing his bag and whistled a merry melody that had just come into his mind. He was closing the zip of his holdall when Mary came into the bedroom.

"All packed?" She greeted him and kissed him on the cheek.

"Yes. I don't need that much for only a week. Thank you again for suggesting this holiday. I think this is just what Sherlock and I need right now. And after that – I promise – we will continue with _our_ plans," he answered and kissed her properly.

"And what plans might that be?" Mary smiled against his lips.

"I'll tell you next week." After that, no more words were needed.

The next morning, John almost jumped out of his bed when his alarm clock went off at eight am. Finally, it was Saturday.

Mary was still asleep and didn't react to his alarm going off. Quietly, John got out of his bed and went into the bathroom. There was a new text from Sherlock on his mobile. He hadn't heard much from him this week, he had only asked for some details around their holiday, but nothing more.

 _I have some business to do with Mycroft this morning. I will meet you at Paddington Station, no need to pick me up at home. SH_

Business with Mycroft on a Saturday morning was most likely not a good thing. The text had been sent around 6.30 and he couldn't help but wonder if Mycroft was not able to leave his younger brother alone for a while after his return. John hoped that Sherlock would be on time for their train to St Ives on 9.50 am. He texted back a short reply.

 _Okay, see you there. Tell him I wouldn't appreciate an interruption of our plans. John._

That should do it, he hoped. He finished shaving and went into the kitchen. Mary had gotten up in the meantime and was preparing tea, eggs and toast.

"Good morning, darling," she greeted with a huge smile on her face. _Like she is almost happy that I'm leaving for a week,_ John couldn't help but think, even after last night.

"Hey," he greeted her back and kissed her on the cheek. "Ready to spend the week alone?" He asked her. "I will call once we're there, I promise," he added to make his earlier statement not sound harsher than it was.

"Yeah, of course I am. But I will be very happy to get you back next Saturday and have you all for me, then," she answered him.

* * *

Sherlock had not been happy about Mycroft's call at 5 am on Saturday morning.

"What is it, Mycroft?" he had greeted him with a drowsy voice.

The answer made him wide-awake within an instant. "Mary," his brother had answered him in a dead-serious voice.

"What about her?"

"Come here and you shall see," Mycroft said and ended the call.

 _Here_ of course was MI5. His brother had even more ungodly working hours than he had. Sherlock had already packed all things for his trip with John the evening before and only had to shower before he went to see Mycroft.

He arrived at MI5 at 6 am.

"What took you so long?" Mycroft greeted him, not smiling.

"Whatever this is, brother mine, make it quick. I have a train to catch," Sherlock greeted him back.

"Going somewhere so soon after your return?" Mycroft asked with a puzzled look on his face. He would have never expected that Sherlock would leave Baker Street again only two weeks after his return.

"Holiday with John," he answered, his tone clearly dismissive.

Mycroft had no answer to this revelation and cleared his throat instead.

"So, Mary." He changed the subject, still not sure about what to think about Sherlock on a holiday.

"Yes?" It was clear that Sherlock was keen to know what Mycroft seemed to have found out about his best friend's girlfriend.

"I've told you that I couldn't find anything about her that is older than two years. I am now sure that Mary is not her real name. She must have had some medical education to be able to work as a nurse together with John, and I've scanned all the files but I could not find a Mary Morstan in all British graduates. She started at John's practice about eight months ago and it only took John two weeks to ask her out."

"That doesn't surprise me," Sherlock said.

"Asking her out or the fact she doesn't seem to exist?"

"Both, actually. Continue."

"In the records, her parents are both deceased but these names led to dead-ends, either. There is no way this woman is who she pretends she is. One week before I came to Serbia to pick you up, I had her phone bugged. Nothing suspicious there so I went back a couple of months, soon after her showing up at John's practice." Mycroft paused.

"And? Do I have to pull every single word out of you?" Sherlock was getting very impatient with the pace of Mycroft's narration.

"She seems to be connected with Moriarty."

It felt like a hit to his stomach. Sherlock took a deep breath, trying not to panic. The events of Serbia came back to his mind, still fresh. Torture, pain, thirst. Moriarty's people, albeit distant and the last piece of his network. Or so he had thought.

"How?"

"I don't know yet. You should tell John," Mycroft added.

"No, I can't. He would be devastated."

"I am sure she has a second pre-paid phone she uses off-record. The connection I found was the man you stopped in Moscow. She had spoken at least five times to him, just weeks before you found him."

"Are there any records of the call?"

"No, unfortunately not."

Sherlock looked at his phone. 6.30 am. He would meet John directly at Paddington station and texted him. Probably he was still asleep with Mary lying beside him.

As soon as he was done texting, Mycroft led Sherlock into another conference room with a video screen and showed him everything he had found about Mary and her connection to James Moriarty.

Sherlock started to feel ill as soon as he entered the room.

Almost two hours later, John finally texted him back. He would certainly leave early enough and would not have Mycroft spoil their holiday any more.

Sherlock had no idea how he would be able to not instantly spill the news he had learnt this morning to John. Hell, it would even be difficult to meet his best friend's eyes.

 _I have been gone for two whole years to extinguish all of Moriarty's network. And the last person of that network I didn't know about is now John's girlfriend. And he intends to marry her. I am an absolute failure…_

"Sherlock?" Mycroft's voice interrupted his dark thoughts.

He lifted his head to meet the eyes of his older brother. They held a kindness in them that Sherlock had rarely seen.

"Please don't feel like you have failed John. You couldn't have known about Mary. Even I didn't find a connection during my first checks when John had been on a couple of dates with her. None of this is your fault. But we will fix this, I promise you."

"Mycroft, don't you see? I was gone for two years and it's all been useless. John mourned me for two years and now I am back and Moriarty's people are still up and about? I could have returned last year and there would have been no bloody difference. I could have prevented John from dating Mary, we could have gotten rid of her, but now? Do you have any idea how large her own network might be after more than half a year of preparation time?

I am so sick of this, Mycroft. John will hate me for this...," he trailed off, deep in thought and feeling sadder than he had in weeks.

"Go and meet your friend at the station, little brother. We will think about a plan. If the opportunity arises, tell John what you know about Mary. He will be much angrier if you keep him in the dark, even if he does love her."

"I really have no idea how to tell him this, Mycroft." And easy as that, Mycroft _had_ managed to spoil their holiday.

Sherlock stood up, took his holdall and went for the exit. Although he had not had any breakfast except coffee, his stomach churned and he ran into the restroom next to the exit doors and vomited. His whole body was shaking and he felt panic arising in his chest.

 _Breathe,_ he told himself, _just breathe. You don't have to be afraid of John. Just go and meet him. At some point, he might understand. Breathe._

He washed out his mouth with cold water, straightened, readjusted his scarf and left MI5. It was time to catch a cab to Paddington Station.

At 9.40 sharp, John and Sherlock met on track four at Paddington. Their train was already there.

John was smiling openly at Sherlock when he approached his friend. He avoided his gaze and pretended to look at the floor.

"Morning, John," he greeted him, still not meeting his best friend's eyes.

"Morning, Sherlock. Glade you made it. Come on, let's go find our seats."

John turned and boarded the train. Sherlock felt sick to his stomach – again. He took a deep breath and also boarded the train. He could see John walking straight ahead into a coach with separate compartments. John was already opening the door of one of them and stepped inside, gesturing for Sherlock to follow him.

"All ours," he announced. "We will not be disturbed during our trip."

 _And there will be no other conversations or people to distract us,_ Sherlock thought. These next six hours would be very long. Perhaps it would be best to not talk much.

"Great," he replied, stowed away his bag and sat down. Seconds later he closed his eyes. He needed to think.

John would certainly confront him with his behaviour rather sooner than later. Sherlock was acutely how unfair he behaved to John but he needed the time to think to be able to face this week with his friend.

Perhaps it was time to get rid of all those feelings again he had developed during the last week. They had distracted him from…practically everything and he hadn't been able to think clearly at all.

His brother had been right all along. Caring was not an advantage. However, Sherlock had not felt this alive in his whole life. Everything seemed a bit brighter and intense during the last week.

But now, it was time to stop Mary and he could only do this if he was totally focussed. Even if it made him sad.

Slowly, he tried to stuff all the unwelcome and distracting feeling into a box in the back of his mind. He hoped he was able to lock lock in there as long as he felt it necessary.

* * *

John could not help but feel down.

Sherlock had been on time but had not greeted him with much enthusiasm. His mind seemed elsewhere after his early meeting with Mycroft and his friend had yet to meet his eyes.

He had been looking forward to this week so much that he had been downright giddy this morning. Well, Sherlock had managed to end this feeling quite abruptly.

As soon as they had sat down in their compartment, Sherlock had closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. Of course, John was still able to tell if he was pretending or not.

Why had Sherlock agreed to this holiday when the idea of spending a whole week with John now seemed to be abhorrent to him?

John closed his eyes as well, wondering how they would be able to stand each other's company during the next week. Or the next six hours, even.

They changed trains in Bristol and Sherlock hadn't said more than one sentence during the whole process. Although he was still feigning to be asleep, John could sense his friend was very tense.

An hour after they had left Bristol, he had enough.

"You know what, Sherlock?" He started, surprised at how angry he sounded. Still, Sherlock showed no sign of any reaction on his outburst.

"I really looked forward to spending a whole week alone with my best friend. This morning, I felt happier than I had for two years," _and I still have to analyse what this means for my relationship with Mary,_ but he continued, "and now you are sitting here, all aloof and feigning sleep. Would you please bloody stop pretending now?" He was almost shouting now.

Finally, Sherlock opened his eyes. After a few seconds, his gaze finally met his.

The expression he found in his friend's eyes made him gasp. Sherlock looked sad – unbelievingly sad and und unhappy.

"What is it Sherlock? Just tell me. If you didn't want to go, why didn't you just say?"

"John, I agreed to come on this holiday with you and here I am," he said, gesturing at the compartment and their bags.

"What else do you want?" he added quietly.

"Okay Sherlock, I'll try to be patient, but I'll not have you giving me the silent treatment for a whole week."

The rest of their train ride to St Erth went on in silence, although no longer an uneasy one. Sherlock and John both kept staring out the window, watching the landscape go by and following their thoughts.

Finally, in the late afternoon, the two friends arrived in St Ives. St Ives was a small village that overlooked the sea and had a beautiful sand beach. John had booked two rooms in a small hotel that had a view on the beach and the village. It also had a spa for days with exceptionally bad weather and larger rooms you could spend some time in if you wanted to.

* * *

Sherlock could not help but sigh at the sight of the village. John really had chosen a beautiful place for their holiday. But this village was so small they would be able to take a tour in under two hours and seen every single street of it. He wondered how he would be able to spend a week with John here.

He did feel bad for giving John the silent treatment for the whole train ride. John's outburst about his behaviour had been what he had expected, albeit not this intense. He knew that he had really looked forward to his week and Sherlock couldn't help but think he had already spoiled everything.

 _Damn Mary._

He would find a way to tell John, but not tonight.

They walked the way from the station to the hotel. John had brought a little map to find the place but it was not more than a ten minutes walk.

The place looked really nice, an older building but newly renovated. Sherlock followed John's lead and could not help relaxing a bit after he had inhaled the fresh air that smelled of the sea.

"Hello, gentlemen," the clerk at the hotel's desk greeted them with a sincere smile.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, sir. We've booked two rooms for the next week."

"Ah, here we are, Mr Watson. Your rooms are right next to each other. There is a connecting door in your rooms should you wish to use it. The key's in the lock. If you would follow me, then."

Sherlock silently followed John and Mr Browne to their rooms.

After John had vanished into his room, Mr Browne led Sherlock to his room and the next door on the floor.

"Here you are, Mr Holmes. I hope you'll enjoy your stay with us. You can have dinner in our restaurant if you like. Breakfast is from seven until ten thirty every morning."

With that, he closed the door and left Sherlock alone.

He looked around in his room. The colours were a mix of sea blue and cream, with a bit of orange in the bed linens and the curtains. It was very quiet and soothing and perhaps he could have really found some peace here if there was not the matter of Mary.

His look fell on the connecting door to John's room. The key was on his side of the door. He went and knocked.

"Yes?" John's voice came through the door.

Sherlock opened the door.

"These are really nice rooms, John. Dinner at 6.30 in the restaurant downstairs?"

He could not help but feel relieved by the happy look on John's face at his suggestion.

"Yes. I'll knock and we can go down together. I guess I'll take a shower now."

"See you later, John." Sherlock closed the door again.

John really didn't deserve his dark mood so he would be trying to be at least civil – for his best and only true friend.

At 6.30 sharp there was a knock on his door. Sherlock had actually fallen asleep on his bed for an hour after the short night and the tense atmosphere during their trip here. He guessed, exhaustion from his two year trip still played a role in that, too. He ruffled his hair, straightened his shirt and opened the door for John.

They ordered a bottle of white wine and some seafood for dinner. After the waiter had brought their Sauvignon blanc, John cleared his throat to say something.

"John," Sherlock interrupted him before John could finish his first word.

"I know you want to know why I am like this. It has to do with what Mycroft showed me this morning. I can't tell you yet what this is about and I'm sorry about that, John. I am aware I am not exactly the company you'd like to have...," he finished lamely, even for himself.

"Then why don't you tell me about it? You always shared your information about your cases. Don't you… trust me anymore?"

"No, John, that's not it." He sighed and added quietly, "Of course I trust you."

He could almost sense the reply John had in mind for this sentence. _If you trust me, why didn't you tell me you were alive all this time?_

"I will tell you what Mycroft told me as soon as I've figured out what to do about the…situation."

"You had more than six hours to think about it, Sherlock. With that mind of yours, you surely have worked out something by now."

There was anger in John's voice again. It was time to change the subject.

"Tell me how you met Mary."

"Mary? Do you even care?" John was still angry, apparently also about the sudden change of subject.

"John, I won't tell you more tonight and I don't want this evening spoiled so would you please play along and change the subject? If you don't want to talk about Mary, fine. So find a different subject, then."

Their food arrived.

John talked about the plans he had made for the week. The places he wanted to visit and the walks he had planned for them. Sherlock didn't comment and mostly nodded his approval. He would follow John wherever he wanted.

* * *

It was not even eight o'clock when they had finished their dinner.

"Care for a walk through the town?" John asked, not being entirely sure why. It was winter, it was cold and Sherlock clearly wasn't interested in making this day longer than it already had been. But he was surprised.

"Not particularly, but I will come along anyway." Not the answer he had hoped for but at least he would not have to go alone.

They left the hotel, walking silently in the direction of the beach.

"I know I haven't exactly given you that impression today but this place is nicer than I thought, even if it will bore me out of my skull by the end of the week," he added with a small chuckle.

"You won't be bored, Sherlock. I have it all planned out," John replied with a grin, hoping that Sherlock decided to enjoy this holiday at some point.

On this friendlier note, they returned to the hotel half an hour later, said goodnight and both went into their rooms.

John was dead tired and settled into his comfortable bed with a book, trying to read.

After ten pages, he gave up and switched off the lamp.

 _Must be the wine and sea air._ Minutes later, he was fast asleep.

In the adjoining room, Sherlock felt similarly tired and after switching through the TV channels he also switched of his lamp, lying in the dark.

Sleep, however, evaded him. The noises of the hotel seemed loud in this quiet town. The constant humming of London was by far more soothing to him.

He needed an idea how to tell John about Mary without destroying the man's confidence or trust in him. During the six-hour train ride, he hadn't found a solution how to tell John that his girlfriend was most likely an assassin and confidant of none other than Jim Moriarty.

After three hours of pointless thinking, Sherlock finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

John woke with a start. It was completely dark in his room and eerily quiet but he was sure a noise had woken him.

"No!" he heard Sherlock shout from the other room. "Please…don't…" he heard Sherlock's voice, now sounding tearful.

John jumped out his bed, now wide awake and opened the door to Sherlock's room.

Sherlock was lashing about in his bed, his eyes closed, clearly having a very bad nightmare.

"Sherlock," John said soothingly, sitting down beside him. "Wake up, Sherlock, it's only a dream."

He switched on the lamp on Sherlock's bedside table.

His friend's face was shining with sweat. He hadn't woken up yet.

John grabbed Sherlock's wrists and leaned over him. "Sherlock – wake up. It's only a dream."

With a start, Sherlock opened his eyes.

"John? Are you alright?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"Of course I am. Bad dream?" He loosened the grip on Sherlock's wrists and sat down again next to him on the bed.

"Yeah, I guess so…. Why am I here? Why are you here?"

John's medical education kicked in.

 _Disoriented, high pulse, sweat, must have been some trauma that had caused this nightmare._

"We are in St Ives, on our holiday, remember?"

Sherlock sunk back on the bed, remembering.

"Yes. Sorry, for waking you up."

"Tell me about the dream?"

"Not sure if I can," Sherlock replied absentmindedly. "I have to get rid of this shirt, it's soaked with sweat."

He sat up in his bed, pulling the shirt over his head.

John could not help but gasp.

Soon after he had moved in with Sherlock years ago, he had seen the man shirtless, in Buckingham Palace even. His body had been free of scars and any other damage.

Now, he could see several quite recent scars on his back and another one right below his collarbone that seemed to be older.

"My God, Sherlock, what happened to you? Why didn't you tell me?"

"What?" Sherlock asked back, only now realizing John hadn't known about his scars.

"Happened in Serbia. They beat me to get information. Didn't give them any. Then Mycroft came."

"Is your nightmare connected with what happened there?"

"How do you know?" Sherlock seemed now fully awake.

"Just a guess," John admitted.

"Good deduction," Sherlock answered him.

He stood up and went into his bathroom and washed off the sweat.

"You should not put on a new shirt before the scars have completely dried. Do you have a salve for them?"

"Yes."

"Give it to me, I'll rub it in. By the way, who did this in the last two weeks?"

"No one. Tried it myself the best way I could. Worked for me."

"You should have told me, Sherlock. Now sit down and give me the salve."

Sherlock was completely still and silent while John rubbed in the salve. One of the scars had been quite deep and had needed stitching.

Sherlock's skin was very smooth, almost as soft as a woman's. He had almost no hair on his upper body. _The man still is very thin, I need to feed him up this week. And I will get rid of these scars._

"Sherlock, if you want to tell me what happened, I'm here for you. Even you need someone to speak about this," John tried.

"Says the man who doesn't listen to his therapist," Sherlock tried.

"But I at least have someone to talk to. You could have me for that." He finished with the salve.

"There you go, now wait for salve to dry and you can put on your shirt again."

"Thank you, John. I have this nightmare every night. You know I don't sleep much and I hoped the nightmare would stay away from here, being away from home and everything. Seems I was wrong."

"Then perhaps you should really tell me about it. I have all night."

John stood up and went to the other side of the double bed. He slipped under the blanket next to Sherlock.

"What are you doing, John?" Sherlock asked, but switched off his lamp.

"Stay here with you. If you feel ready, tell me about the nightmare. I am listening."

"This is ridiculous, John, I am a grown man. Surely I can endure my own nightmares. Go back into your own room."

"No, Sherlock. Doesn't seem that way to me. This nightmare or something else is stressing you and you will tell me. I won't leave until you've told me."

An hour later, Sherlock still hadn't said a word and seemed determined to keep it that way. John was on the verge of falling asleep again.

Apparently, Sherlock had fallen asleep again from the sheer exhaustion of the nightmare. But now, he was beginning to lash about again. The nightmare had returned.

John reached over on Sherlock's side of the bad and grabbed his hand.

"Sherlock – wake up!" He squeezed his friend's hand.

Sherlock was still now.

"John?"

"Yes. I'm here."

"I guess the nightmare returned then. Sorry."

"Still have to tell me about it, Sherlock."

"Guess I have to," he replied, his voice still thick with sleep and angst.

Somehow, Sherlock hadn't pulled his hand away from John's. Perhaps he wasn't even aware of it.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock"

"There's something I have to tell you."

"I'm listening."

"It's about Mary."

* * *

 _Please let me know what you think! Thanks._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Many thanks to my beta Christine_

* * *

Chapter 5

"Mary? How can your nightmares be about Mary?" John asked, his voice upset. He let go of Sherlock's hand as soon as he realized that his hand still covered Sherlock's.

"My nightmares are _not_ about Mary. But I need to talk to you about her."

"And why?"

"Because of what Mycroft told me this morning before we left."

"Mycroft called you in this morning because of Mary? She's just a nurse, Sherlock. Do you need to ruin every single one of my relationships with women or what is with you?" John said, his voice rising in the darkness of the hotel room.

"Don't shout, John. Can't we talk like normal people about this?"

"Normal people? When have _you_ ever been normal?"

John heard a sharp intake of breath. _That_ hadn't come out right.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean that."

His friend didn't answer him.

"Listen, Sherlock. I am upset, but I did not mean what I said."

"I know, John. But still, there is some truth in what you've said. And I am not angry."

"Okay then, but I am still sorry. What did your brother have to say about Mary?"

"While I was away, Mycroft kept an eye on you."

"Naturally," John replied quietly, but no longer truly upset and now anxious to hear what Sherlock had to say.

"When you and Mary started dating, he did a short check on Mary and didn't find anything unusual. You two went out and he only checked up on you once in a while. You seemed to be happy and Mycroft wanted it to stay that way. As my return approached, a couple of weeks before I went to Serbia, Mycroft did a more thorough check on Mary to make sure everything was safe and ready for my return."

Sherlock paused.

"What did he find, Sherlock?"

"He could not find any documents about Mary that went beyond two years ago. It was as if she suddenly had just _appeared._ He only told me about this a couple of days ago."

John didn't know what to say to this so he waited for Sherlock to continue. He was wide awake now.

"It is quite obvious now that Mary is not her real name. There have been no nurse graduates in England with her name during the last twenty-five years. There are no records of her birth or anything else. Mary Morstan is definitely not her real name."

Something began to crack deep inside of John.

"What does she want from me, then?" He asked Sherlock, his voice shaking now.

"We think she wants to get to me through you," Sherlock admitted.

"But you were supposedly dead until a week ago, Sherlock."

His friend stayed silent and said nothing, waiting for his friend to come to his own conclusion.

"But that would mean," he said so quietly that Sherlock had trouble understanding him, "she knew you were alive and…" he trailed off.

"…And waited for my return at your side," Sherlock finished the sentence for him.

"She is definitely connected to Moriarty's network, John. I was in Moscow five months ago. Mycroft's people scanned her phone records and she was in contact with the man I had imprisoned there. He was one of Moriarty's men."

The silence in the room became thick after a couple of minutes. Only John's laboured breathing could be heard.

"John, I am sorry that I failed you," Sherlock whispered.

"What?" John snapped out of his shocked state at Sherlock's apology.

"Had I known that Mary was a part of Moriarty's network from the beginning, I would have stopped her. I would have come home earlier and protected you. I had promised myself I would only return if it was completely safe for you to do so, and she was right here for more than half a year together with you. I am sorry, John."

"For God's sake Sherlock, stop this! I don't need your protection, I can protect myself very well, thank you. And you did not _fail_ me. You did the best you could and then came back. You could not have known about Mary. I did not suspect anything about her behaviour. Are you a hundred percent sure she is not who she pretends she is?"

"Yes."

* * *

John felt like he had been hit into his stomach. _Why the hell did I have to fall in love with her? Why do I always date the wrong women?_ He was seriously beginning to doubt his knowledge of human nature.

"Stop it, John," he heard Sherlock's voice next to him in the dark.

"Stop what?"

"Doubting yourself, you couldn't have known," he said.

"Says the man who thinks he failed me because he didn't see this coming. Stop it yourself, Sherlock."

John closed his eyes and thought back on how he had met Mary. She had never been invasive or obviously flirting with him.

She had just shown up in his practice and had listened to him. His grief, his loneliness, his feelings. She had been the one thing in his life that had steadied him after Sherlock's death. How could this all have been only a show?

"You know, Sherlock, I honestly don't see how she could have faked everything… this long. I never sensed anything."

"If she is connected with Moriarty, she must be good, John. He would never have engaged with amateurs."

 _True_ , John thought. _Gods, I will never be able to trust any woman again._ And then he thought back to last morning's departure and his unwelcome impression that Mary seemed to be happy that he would be gone for the week. _Could it really be true? Has she only toyed with me and doesn't really love me?_

"What else did Mycroft find?" He wanted to know it all now.

"You really want to know?" Sherlock asked back, clearly hesitating.

"Yes, Sherlock. Now that you've started telling me, I want to know it all. Don't try to protect me, I will be able to handle it…somehow." _As long as you don't leave me again,_ his mind silently added.

"Okay, John. This will not be easy for you, nor is it for me. All day I thought about how to tell you this and…"

"Stop, Sherlock. Just tell me. None of this is your fault. Please, Sherlock. Just say it," John interrupted his friend. Whatever might be coming now, he had steeled himself to hear it.

"According to Mycroft's findings," Sherlock started in his lowest voice, "it is possible that Moriarty has been working for Mary. He was very likely only a puppet and she pulled her strings through him. She might have been the head of it all."

John waited for Sherlock to continue, but he didn't.

"Moriarty. A puppet? Does he have evidence? Clearly, Mycroft must have found something that convinced you and made you tell me."

"Yes," was the only answer Sherlock gave him.

"Come on, Sherlock. It can't be getting much worse than it already is."

"You remember the Irene Adler case?"

"Of course I do, Sherlock." _How could I forget the only woman that caused something like a human reaction in you?_ He added silently.

"We knew she was in contact with Moriarty, but she was also in contact with somebody else at the time. When Mycroft had her phone in possession, they checked her in- and outgoing calls thoroughly."

Sherlock paused again and inhaled deeply.

"Irene Adler is not dead. I know Mycroft truly thinks she was as he was present to witness her execution from afar. But I helped her escape at the very last minute. She is alive and now living in Switzerland."

"You saw her again since the case?"

"No, and there was no contact between us until this morning. Mycroft had found the connection between her and Moriarty and he also had become aware that Irene was still alive while I was away. I – we- called her this morning and asked her about her other contact. She told us she'd only spoken once with Moriarty, the call when we were at the pool, and after that only once spoken to his boss. A woman named Victoria. She inquired directly after you and me although Irene had not met us yet. Irene met her once and although she must have been using disguise, it must clearly have been Mary."

"How do you know?" John desperately wanted to find a fault in Sherlock's arguments. Perhaps it was still all an error.

"Mary has a tattoo, hasn't she?"

John gasped.

"How would you know?"

"Where is it? I deduced that she was likely to have one when I first met her but never saw anything. Irene, however, has seen it."

"So she and Mary…," John wasn't even able to finish the sentence.

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"On the inside of her left thigh. Just below her …"

"…vagina," Sherlock finished for him. "She told me," he added with a deep sigh.

"And when did Irene meet Mary?"

"Only once. Shortly before Irene left. She didn't want to tell me the reason and she also said she never intended to meet her again."

"Did you tell her why you inquired after her?"

"I invented a case. There's no need for her to know."

"Thank you. Anything else?" _Please don't let there be more,_ John hoped. He wasn't so sure he could take more now.

"No. Mycroft and his people are still investigating."

John could feel the panic rising inside him. His breathing became laboured but there was nothing he could do about it. He hadn't had an attack in ages, not after he had met Mary, and now she was the cause of it? No, he wouldn't have that.

He turned and switched on the light on the bedside table.

"What is it, John?" Sherlock's voice came from the other side of the bed.

"I need a moment, Sherlock." He sat up in the bed, focussing on his breathing, trying to stay calm.

 _Fuck, it wasn't working._

"Are you having a panic attack?" Sherlock asked.

Of course he would recognize it. _Fuck_.

"What if I am?" John was almost shouting now.

"What can I do to help you?" Sherlock wasn't losing his calm over this, which was good.

"Nothing!"

"There must be something…" Sherlock started again.

* * *

Sherlock felt totally helpless. His friend was clearly having a panic attack and he had no idea what to do about it. He heard John's irrational breathing and felt his panic and he saw the sweat that was breaking out on his forehead.

He desperately searched his mind for ways to help people for panic attacks, but it was very likely he had deleted all information he had ever had about things like this.  
Perhaps human contact would calm him? Sherlock was remembering clearly how John's hand had calmed him earlier after that nightmare.

"Close your eyes, John. Listen to my breathing. Try to adjust your breathing to mine."

 _Why am I so useless in situations like this?_

John seemed to listen to him and closed his eyes.

Slowly, Sherlock reached over and laid his left hand above John's right one.

John flinched at the contact but didn't pull back.

"It's going to be alright, John," he said because he didn't know what else to say.

Fifteen minutes later, John had calmed considerably and slowly sank down into the bed, obviously tired and exhausted now.

John was almost asleep and breathing evenly. Nevertheless, the troubled look on his friend's face tore at Sherlock's heart.

He rolled over and reached above John and switched off the bedside lamp. Sleep evaded him for the rest of the night.

He had told John everything. It had gone much better than expected, except for the panic attack. But perhaps it was better that everything was now out in the open.

John was resilient and he would recover from the shock. They had a whole week in front of them to deal with everything and Sherlock intended to use it.

Surely this wasn't what John wanted for a holiday but it couldn't be helped.

When Sherlock woke up in the morning, John's side of the bed was empty.

 _John's side of the bed?_ Since when was there a John's side of the bed? He clearly wasn't truly awake yet.

And clearly, he must have fallen asleep in the early morning hours although he had been quite sure that he would not find any sleep that night. He had been holding John's hand as long as he was awake and was now hoping that John had not been offended by that when he had woken up.

"John?" His voice was scratchy from the short night and long talk.

No answer.

Slowly, Sherlock sat up and looked at his watch. Shortly after 9 am. _Must have slept at least three hours._

He stood and knocked on the connecting door between their room.

No answer.

"John?"

He opened the door. All of Johns things were still there, so he hadn't left head over heels. A note was lying on John's bed.

 _Sherlock, I went for breakfast and a walk. Need some time alone. Thanks for last night. See you later, John._

John's mobile beeped somewhere in the room. Of course, Sherlock was curious who had texted him and if it was Mary. After last night, he decided he had the right to check John's mobile.

It was Mary.

 _Hey, I haven't heard from you yesterday – I assume you've arrived safely? Love, xxx Mary_

A meaningless standard exchange between couples.

Sherlock was wondering how John would be answering her text after what he had learnt last night.

His stomach growled.

 _The sea breeze must make me hungry, although I've eaten last night._

Sherlock went back into his room to get dressed.

* * *

After a small breakfast containing a piece of toast and a cup of tea, John desperately needed the fresh air. The sky was cloudy but it didn't look like rain. He took his coat and left the hotel in the direction of the coast walk. The wind and the breeze would hopefully help to clear his head.

John couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that he had fallen for Mary at all. Yesterday, shortly before he had left for the station, he had the very first inch of a doubt about her but never before.

 _How could I have been so blind and stupid? I intended to marry that woman!_

And within seconds, he realized with relief that Sherlock had interrupted his proposal at the very last possible moment. He still had to thank him for that.

Mary, Moriarty, Irene Adler. The most complex people he had ever met. Though Mary had never seemed complex until yesterday. She had just been his girl, nothing else. But now… She had tricked him into falling in love with her and he was furious about that.

She had been the first woman in years that had really caused deep feelings within him. Now he was quite sure no other woman would ever manage to do that again, let alone gain his trust.

Sherlock had been a true friend last night. He had spoken the truth after having had a horrendous day keeping the secret and struggling how to tell John.

 _The middle of the night had been the perfect point for telling me,_ John realized. It had been dark and the atmosphere had been intimate. John had felt at ease next to Sherlock in his room and he wondered why it didn't bother him more to have woken up with Sherlock's hand on his arm and Sherlock's face very near to his own one. It had almost felt like an embrace and had been strangely comforting after that panic attack.

Sherlock had handled that perfectly well, too although he had clearly been out of his depth about it.

With a start, John also realized that he hadn't contacted Mary after their arrival at St Ives last night. Now, he had absolutely no clue how to talk to her at all. Perhaps he could only send texts and find an excuse for not having to call her. But that would make her suspicious, obviously. Perhaps Sherlock had an idea what to do about that.

Half an hour into his walk, John's thoughts cleared and he was able to walk for a while without thinking and only taking in the beauty around him. He would have to return here with Sherlock. This was really a nice place, he thought, half-smiling.

He sat down on a bench that overlooked a piece of coast, an abandoned cottage and the sea. It was peaceful and quiet and John felt calm for the first time in a week.

Despite the news he had learned last night, he was acutely aware that as long as Sherlock was here with him they would find a solution to the "Mary problem" – together.

* * *

Sherlock had no idea what to do with himself without John. There were only few people in the hotel and since it was Sunday, St Ives was very quiet. Next to the lobby in their hotel was a small library where he sat down and tried to read.  
Of course it would have been reasonable to call Mycroft and tell that John was now aware of everything but somehow Sherlock wanted to discuss all options with John first and let not Mycroft have his meddlesome ways.

The pages of the book he held in his lap stayed unturned. Instead, Sherlock kept staring out of the window, waiting for John to return.

It was only 10 am now and he had no idea when John had left for his walk. It could be hours before he returned. He needed something to do.

Sherlock put the book away and went back into his room to turn on John's laptop. It was time to find out what John might have planned for this week. He literally had no idea about Cornwall except for beautiful landscape and it was time to change that. He could take only so many surprises.

Lost in his research, he almost missed the sound of John's door closing in the other room.

"John?" he called loudly, not looking up from the screen of John's laptop.

"Sorry, room service!" a woman's voice called back.

Sighing, Sherlock concentrated on the text on the screen. It seemed the only thing you could do in Cornwall was talking bloody long walks. He didn't have the shoes for that kind of thing so the first thing they would have to do in the morning is buy some new shoes. At least he had thought about bringing his only pair of jeans and a jumper for that.

There was a knock on the connecting door.

"Sherlock?" Finally, John was back.

"Yes, come in."

The door opened and Sherlock turned and looked at his friend. He looked better and smiled openly at him.

Sherlock didn't know what to say. After last night, it seemed that the dynamics between him and John had slightly changed.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" John asked, obviously not sensing that anything was amiss.

Sherlock tried to find his voice again and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Inquiring what you might have planned for the next days. If you really want to take some long walks, I might need some different shoes."

"Didn't you bring the ones you had in Baskerville?"

"No, they weren't good any more."

Silence fell between the two friends. The mention of Baskerville brought back both pleasant and unpleasant memories for Sherlock.

He had fought with John over their friendship and he had been drugged and the Baskerville laboratory had been a bit…scary, but he had also had spent some intense time with John and all in all, it had been a good couple of days for him. Some of the best, when he thought back.

"Everything all right, Sherlock?"

He didn't know.

"Regarding last night, Sherlock," John started and Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. _Will he mention that I held his hand for half of the night. After I kissed him on the forehead last week. Did John even remember that? He hadn't said a word about it,_ Sherlock realized. "We should talk."

"You have received a text form Mary," was the first thing that came to Sherlock's mind now that he was actively pushing his fears and emotions away again.

"Yes, I've seen it. I wanted to discuss with you how I should answer that."

"Something unsuspicious. Tell her your battery was empty and you didn't see it until now or something like that."

"Shouldn't I call her?"

"If she texted, text back. If she wants to call, she will," he almost snapped at John as if had said something stupid.

"Okay," he heard John's answer while his friend was turning away from him, typing away on his phone.

A couple of minutes later, John came back into his room and showed him the message.

 _Hi love. Sorry I didn't call you last night. We went for dinner and I fell asleep right after, must have been the fresh air. Everything's fine and we will now leave for some sightseeing. I forgot my charging cable and will only turn on the phone shortly in the evenings. Miss you, xxx John._

"Good thinking, John. Send it."

John pressed send. And turned off his phone.

"If she tries to call, the phone should be switched off. I don't want to talk to anybody, anyway. Except you, of course," John said.

"Will we really be going sightseeing now?" Sherlock asked.

"I thought after lunch, but we still need to talk, Sherlock."

"Ah yes, almost forgot about that," Sherlock answered, hardly convincing himself that he had really meant that.

"You alright?" John asked again.

"Of course I'm bloody not alright, John! Last night you had a panic attack after I told you everything and now you seem so … accepting!"

"You think I should feel more…devastated?" John asked, but almost smiled while saying it.

Sherlock could only nod. _What the hell is wrong with John? What the hell is wrong with me?_

"I am, Sherlock, but not as much as I was last night. I also want to thank you for treating me with so much care last night. When I woke up this morning, I felt safe and protected, thanks to you. While I was out there, sitting on a bench with a marvellous view on the sea, I realized that all I need right now is you. My friend that I trust and who will help me through this. This week will give us the perfect opportunity to plan what we will do about her, whoever she is."

Sherlock was at a loss how to answer his friend.

All he could do is look straight into John's eyes and see his friend's trust in them. He could not help but smile at John, who was openly smiling back at him. Beaming, practically.

He became acutely aware of how silly he must have been looking right now and snapped his mouth shut and cleared his throat.

"I should call Mycroft."

"I thought you might have done that already while I was away."

"No, John. No more secrets, we will only speak with him together."

* * *

As it turned out, Mycroft hadn't found more evidence yet but since it was the weekend, he had promised more intelligence in the next couple of days. He had also approved their strategy of communication with Mary and would call Sherlock immediately if their surveillance of Mary brought out anything suspicious.

John had truly enjoyed the afternoon with Sherlock. They had gone to St. Michael's Mount and had visited the old castle. In the summer, the place was usually overcrowded with people but in the winter, they had been the only visitors together with an old couple. John had feared that Sherlock would spoil the tour they had been given as too boring but he had been quiet and had seemed truly interested. Perhaps it had been time for him to leisurely visit a place outside of London.

It was almost dark when they returned to their hotel, although it was only five in the afternoon. The wind had become very cold within the last hour and it now smelled like snow out there.

John was looking forward to a trip to the hotel spa and a good dinner. He had managed to push all thoughts about Mary away during the afternoon.

"I'm going to the spa and have a sauna. Want to come?" he asked Sherlock when they reached their rooms.

Sherlock's eyes widened for the split of a second at John's invitation to join him and he cleared his throat before he answered.

"No. I cannot bear the heat with my back. Knock at my door when you want to have dinner," Sherlock snapped at him with an annoyed lock.

With that, Sherlock disappeared into his room and left John wondering what he might have said to cause this abrupt end of their very nice afternoon together.

He also hoped that Sherlock had brought something other to wear than his suits. They wouldn't do for the tour he had planned for tomorrow.

But if Sherlock needed to buy shoes, they could surely find a pair of jeans, too.

Wrapped in a towel, John sat alone in the hotel's sauna and enjoyed the heat.

As soon as he had mentioned the sauna, Sherlock had seemed to be almost in panic. He needed to ask him about that later.

An hour later he knocked at the connecting door of their room. There was no answer.

"Sherlock?"

Still – nothing.

Slowly, John opened the door to Sherlock's room to find his friend lying on his bed in his trousers, his favourite dressing down, fast asleep and snoring lightly.

He could not help but watch his friend in his sleep. He had seldom seen Sherlock sleeping or being this relaxed. His face was open and his cheekbones seemed even more prominent with the mop of his curls hanging unruly around his face.

"Are you done watching me?"

John almost jumped out of his skin.

"You are awake?"

Sherlock opened his eyes.

"Since you opened the door."

"Then why did you pretend to be asleep?"

Sherlock sat up and swung his legs on the side of the bed.

"Hungry?"

It hadn't escaped John's notice that Sherlock hadn't answered his question.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Many thanks for the follows and favourites. And of course to my friend and beta Christine._

* * *

Chapter 6

John and Sherlock had shared a nice dinner and each of them had a pint of beer with their fish and chips. Of course there had also been much more sophisticated meals on the menu but after their first excursion in the afternoon they had both felt like it.

At half nine, John had been getting so tired that he could hardly keep his eyes open and Sherlock had suggested they went to bed early after the exhausting night before.

John had insisted to leave the connection door open if Sherlock had another nightmare. Despite of John's tiredness, he did not forget to tend to Sherlock's wounds before he finally dropped into his bed and fell asleep instantly.

Sherlock, however, was now laying awake in his bed for another hour, thinking about the day and that he had not – surprisingly - been bored for one minute. In fact, he felt himself relaxing for the first time in years.

Before "The Fall", Sherlock had not been able to stand downtime and had always been bored instantly when there was no work to do.

After two constant years of watching his back and hunting down people, it felt nice to do something just for leisure, despite the whole "Mary situation". And of course, it was just brilliant to have John back.

In the darkness of his room, he could hear the soft breathing from John's room, and he had to fight the urge to just go into the next room and watch his friend sleep.

Only now, Sherlock dared to think again about the sudden new feelings he had for John.

Why had he kissed him – unconsciously even – on the forehead after the Bonfire? Would John ever say something about it? Did he even remember that kiss?

Why had the hug John had given him felt so different than any other hug he had received from Mrs Hudson? Why had his skin tingled so much when John had rubbed in the ointment into the scars on his back earlier?

And – most importantly - why did he feel _this_ relieved that John's relationship with Mary was about to end and he was not likely to look for a new relationship soon?

He had always felt a deep friendship and sympathy for John- although he had almost never shown him that, which he regretted now. But now things felt – different? Could it be possible that he had developed deeper feelings for his best friend?

Coming to no resolution to his thoughts and listening to the steady sound of John's breathing, Sherlock finally fell asleep.

* * *

John woke up at eight am in the morning. _Seems like I really needed the sleep._

He stretched and turned around lazily, listening for noises from the other room. He heard the shower being turned on, so Sherlock already was awake. He decided that a shower was indeed a good idea and went into his own bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock and John met at their open connecting door, having finished their morning baths simultaneously.

"Morning," John greeted Sherlock with a smile.

He took a moment to take in Sherlock's appearance this morning. He was wearing a dark skinny jeans and a midnight blue woollen sweater. Together with his green-blue eyes and his not quite dry hair, he really was a sight. _He is beautiful,_ his mind supplied.

 _Where the hell did that come from?_ He couldn't help but think immediately.

Feeling uncomfortable, he cleared his throat. "Breakfast?"

"Yes, John. Although I have eaten yesterday in the evening, my stomach seems to be upset about being empty again. Must be the air. I haven't eaten this much in … years."

"It certainly looks like it," John answered dryly.

"Come on, let's go."

Despite it was winter, the sun had made an appearance today and bathed the village in a beautiful, mild light.

After breakfast, John had planned to take Sherlock on a hike near the coastline and make most of this beautiful day. He still wanted to take him to the little bench he had found yesterday morning. _Had it really only been yesterday?_ John found himself thinking.

"I'd like to take you for a hike along the coastline. Do you feel up for that, Sherlock?" he asked his friend as they were returning to their rooms.

"Why else would I dress in something as mundane as jeans, John?"

Of course, this was still Sherlock Holmes. He had already deduced John's plans. No surprises possible.

"Right. So let's head into town first and find you some shoes, then."

Finally, around half eleven, John and Sherlock were on their way to the coast trail. John breathed in the salty air and tried to switch off his mind. His sleep had been almost undisturbed and he felt rested and happy. Really happy. For the first time since ages. It all really had been a blur since Sherlock returned and he had been in a constant state of anger, disbelief and excitement during the first days after his return. Even when he had thought he had somehow gotten "over" Sherlock about three months ago and had moved in with Mary, he had never felt this – content. It was almost like the last two years hadn't happened.

He smiled to himself and followed Sherlock along the trail, who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

They hadn't spoken much during breakfast or during their quick shopping in the town, but it had never felt uncomfortable like it had on the train on Saturday.

After half an hour, they finally reached the bench with that marvellous view.

"I take it you wanted to show me this place?" Sherlock asked as he sat down on the bench.

"Yes, indeed," was all that John could think of as an answer and sat down next to his friend.

"You still know me better than any other person in the world, Sherlock," he added as an afterthought.

For a while, the two friends sat there silently on the little bench, enjoying the view and the surprisingly mild breeze that came from the sea.

Suddenly, Sherlock cleared his throat, straightened his back and began to speak.

"And you still know _me_ better than any other person in the world, John."

John didn't say anything, he sensed that Sherlock wasn't finished but felt nevertheless deeply moved by his admission. It seemed that Sherlock still had trouble to find the right words for what he wanted to say.

"You know, John," he began, "when you suggested this holiday I wasn't at all sure I would be able to handle it. I feared I would be bored within an hour and fed up with all this _beauty_ around me within the shortest amount of time," he continued, gesturing at the scenery around them, his usual facial mask not present and his expression as open as John had seldom seen it.

"But the longer we are here, I find that I am actually enjoying this, very much to my own surprise."

He kept staring at the sea and continued speaking, sounding more emotional than he had ever had.

"I know this holiday has been Mary's idea and I … hate to admit but it was the best thing she could have thought of. I am still not sure about her motives behind all this but what I am sure about is that she will use this week for planning her schemes. We still need to do our own planning, John, and I already have some ideas. But for now, I only want to enjoy the company of the only true friend I ever had."

He paused and his voice had gotten lower and lower with his last words, as if he hadn't been sure how they would be received on John's side.

John, however, had to blink back tears.

Sherlock had never talked much about their friendship, only when it was truly necessary like on that awful day in Baskerville that now seemed a lifetime ago. He had started to open up like this at Angelo's and John found he liked this new side of Sherlock.

It seemed that Sherlock was waiting for him to speak.

"I am well aware that this was Mary's idea. And I loved her even more for it when she suggested it. But the only other thing I know since we made our plans and since we've arrived here, is that I haven't been this happy in years. Not since you've gone away."

For a long time, none of them spoke again.

John gestured Sherlock to get up again after a while and they continued their walk along the coast path in direction. There were no villages ahead, only nature and some old, single cottages. It was perfect.

Half an hour into their walk, Sherlock spoke up again.

"What are your plans regarding this afternoon and the evening, John?"

"Would you like us to start planning?"

"To be honest, yes. But I don't want to spoil the plans you've made…."

"Sherlock, you are not _able_ to spoil anything. I've just tried to tell you that. I suggest we return to our hotel in the early afternoon and start some planning then. I really didn't expect the weather to be this good and didn't plan any more outdoor activity. We still have the rest of the week for the other things I've planned. It's all perfectly fine, Sherlock. Besides, this is our life… spent time together and do some criminal investigation on the side, isn't it?"

Sherlock barked out a laugh.

"Criminal investigation?"

"Let's just see this as a case, I can't think about that it's Mary all the time."

* * *

John really was unbelievable. His fiancé was a criminal and had deceived his friend from the beginning and John wanted to handle this as a any other criminal investigation. But perhaps it was the only way he could cope. He sighed.

"Alright, John. A criminal investigation."

They ordered tea and scones back at the hotel and sat down in the winter garden, enjoying the late afternoon sun. Sherlock was anxious to finally lay out his plans before John. During their walk, he had thought of several options and was eager to discuss them with John now.

Sherlock watched John pour them their tea and prepared a scone for himself.

"Go ahead, Sherlock," John addressed him with a smile. "I know you must practically be bursting with ideas. I'm listening."

John seemed to have finally learned to observe. Good.

"Would you be…" Sherlock stopped and cleared his throat and gathered his courage again before that first question.

"Would you be willing to go back to Mary when we get home?"

John's jaw dropped. He obviously hadn't seen this idea coming.

"Why?" he asked, his voice raw with disbelief.

"To let her believe that nothing has changed between you and we don't suspect anything about her."

He let John think about it.

"I don't know if I can do that, Sherlock."

"You don't have to decide now, John. Please, just think about it. It would buy us a lot of time to deal with the situation and find out about her motives."

"Let's get one thing clear though. Home – to both of us – will only ever be Baker Street.

Other options?" John asked, his eyes clearly conveying hope with the question.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at John's admission. Baker Street felt like the only home for both of them. It felt like getting John completely back with this one sentence and erasing the past two years in a couple of seconds.

Nevertheless, Sherlock hated being distracted by his feelings. He cleared his throat.

"Well, we could return home to Baker Street, confront her immediately and bring her to Mycroft or Lestrade for questioning."

"That's certainly not your best idea. Come on, Sherlock."

John really knew him too well.

"We could lead her to believe that Moriarty has returned."

"How would we do that?"

"I'd have to speak to Mycroft first. I'd let Mycroft's people create a short video that would be broadcast nationwide, with Moriarty in it."

"Could he do that?"

"He's Mycroft, of course he can."

"To cause a reaction from Mary?"

"Exactly. We could have the video be broadcast on the day of our return. Then we would have a reason for you to stay with me. To "protect" me, if you'd like to put it that way. Mycroft has teams for surveillance on her and we could watch her steps then."

"But wouldn't it be better to see her immediate reaction to the video? Will she be in shock, relieved, happy or upset or all of it?"

"But only you could do this without raising her suspicion John, and you didn't seem to be happy to go back to her earlier."

John sighed.

"True. But if I knew it was only a couple of days, I think I could manage."

"Are you sure? I never thought you were a good actor, to be honest."

"Then why did you ask me in the first place?" John replied, now agitated.

"Because we're in this together, John. You should know all the options and you and me should decide together. No more solo attempts."

"Since when?" John seemed unable to stop the question rolling off his tongue.

"Since I've nearly ruined our friendship the last time I did that."

They both sipped their tea and Sherlock let John think about everything.

"You really think I can not fool her when I go back to her?"

"If you are absolutely sure that you can, then you will be able to."

John nodded. "Call Mycroft."

So it was decided. John would return to Mary and they would watch "Moriarty's return" together. It was time to make some plans.

* * *

They ate a late dinner that night.  
Mycroft had agreed to his younger brother's plan, albeit reluctantly, and would give them more details at the end of Tuesday. When there was nothing more to plan or think about in advance, it was already past eight and they headed into the village for dinner in one of the pubs.

John ordered them both a pint and roast beef and chips. They needed a good dinner after this day. The pub was packed with locals and there was no chance their conversations would be overheard by anyone, as they could hardly understand each other across their table.

They concentrated on their food and didn't speak much.

Despite the happy start of the day, Sherlock now felt weary and a little strained. So many things could go wrong if they went ahead with their plan but he had to trust John's abilities here. He was aware that his friend had also changed during his absence, just like he had.

A warm hand touched his own. He looked up and found himself looking directly into John's eyes.

"Hey, where have you drifted off to?" His voice was loud, yet his tone was soft and he smiled.

Apparently, he had forgotten to continue eating and had only just sat there, fork and knife in his hands.

"Nowhere. Sorry."

The hand didn't move away from his.

"Sherlock. Tell me."

"Later. Not here. Eat your dinner."

"Promise?"  
"Yes." He hissed back. Observant John wasn't something he was quite used to yet.

John pulled his hand away and continued eating. Once again Sherlock realized how natural it felt to be touched by John within two weeks of being back.

He hadn't felt the urge to flinch or shy away from his hand. It had simply felt good. Human contact really was a strange thing.

* * *

They went to bed late that night. After they returned from the pub, they went into the hotel bar and ordered a whisky. John knew that Sherlock was acutely aware that he waited for him to bring up the subject of Sherlock's mood back at the pub. He decided to wait until they were back in their rooms. Now it was time to enjoy the whisky and forget about the plans they had made during the afternoon.

"So, tomorrow. Do you want to know what I've planned for us in case you haven't deduced it yet?"

"Tell me," Sherlock answered, seeming honestly curious.

"If the weather stays like today, I'd say we'd stay outdoors, but if not, I planned to go the Eden Project. You certainly heard of it before. Alright for you? I've also hired a car for the next couple of days. Should make it easier moving around here."

"Sounds good. I've always wanted to see that place," Sherlock said.

"Really?"

"Yes. Just forgot about it. I look forward to that, John."

They both finished their whisky and left the hotel bar for their rooms.

John opened the door to his room and Sherlock followed him inside, not bothering with his own room door. It was time to address what clearly was still bothering Sherlock.

"Come on, Sherlock, tell me. Sit down and tell me what's bothering you. I saw it in the pub and I can still see it now."

Sherlock didn't move or say anything. He just stood there, in the middle of the room, still like a statue.

"Please, Sherlock."

"I'm a bad friend, John."

 _Where the hell is that coming from?_

"Explain."

"I am afraid that we didn't make the right decision. I'm afraid I don't _really_ trust your acting abilities. I think you've changed in my absence and that I _should_ trust your acting abilities to get Mary exposed. But mostly I'm afraid I will lose you in this and that it will all be my fault because I didn't see this – or rather her – coming."

"And that does make you a bad friend, how?"

"Didn't you listen to me, John? I just told you I don't trust your judgment?"

"So? I don't always trust yours, or mostly I didn't in the past. But you were always right in the end. And just telling me about your doubts and – feelings – makes you a good friend. A best friend, even. That's what friends do, Sherlock. Talk about the things that affect them."

"Really?"

"Really, Sherlock. And now let's get into bed. I'm tired."

"Thank you, John. Sorry."

"You're welcome. And everything will be fine, Sherlock. Just have some faith."

Sherlock went into his room but left the door open. He went into the bathroom and Sherlock could hear him undressing a couple of moments later.

"Should I come over and tend to your back now?"

"No. Can we do this tomorrow please?"

"First thing in the morning, just wake me up, Sherlock."

"Right, goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

John switched off his bedside lamp and was asleep only minutes later.

Sherlock, however, lay in his bed, wide awake. He had gotten enough sleep last night and he now regretted to not let John tend to his wounds. During the day, he almost felt nothing anymore, but now they were itching quite badly. He knew that scratching was the worst he could do now, so he tried to think about something else.

Mycroft had been very reluctant to agree that John returned to Mary and their flat on Saturday. He as well had doubts that John could act around Mary as if nothing had happened. John's world had been turned around within two weeks but Sherlock had to admit that John seemed emotionally stable now that the shock and anger had gone. He had believed his friend when he had said that he was truly happy.

After John's admission, Sherlock had asked himself if he had ever felt _happy_ in his life. What was it supposed to feel like – being happy… ?

Perhaps it was what it was like now. Having someone to share his life with, in whatever way.

Before he had left, Sherlock had been content with John in his everyday life. He had taken him for granted a week after he had moved in with him.

But in the two years he had been gone, he had realized after days how much John had contributed to his contentment. He had never felt lonely before he had met John. In those two years, he had felt lonely every single day. Now, he could admit that he had been sad and miserable, and the work he had to do had suppressed those feelings well enough. Now he had the time to think about it, it was clear how much he had deceived himself.

 _Am I happy now? Is this what it feels like? Feeling the urge to smile at nothing, feel a strange warmth in my stomach and missing nothing? Nothing at all?_

To his shock, he realized he had never felt this good when he had been high all those years ago. It was different, of course, but had never let him feel – complete.

Unwilling to let those thoughts go, he curled up in his bed and feel asleep.

* * *

John woke up without knowing why. The silence in his room was complete, the darkness outside the windows told him it was still the middle of the night.

He turned to look at the clock on his bedside table: 3.35 am.

 _Why have I woken up then?_

Turning around again to get some more sleep, he heard Sherlock calling out to him from the other room.

"John."

"Yes, I'm awake now, Sherlock."

No answer.

"John!" Sherlock's voice was getting louder.

 _He must be dreaming again._

Instantly, John got out his bed and padded over into Sherlock's room without turning on the lights.

"Sherlock." He whispered. "Wake up."

"John. No!" Sherlock was whining now.

"Please don't."

John sat down beside Sherlock on the bed and touched his shoulder.

"Sherlock, wake up. It's all okay. I'm here."

Still, no reaction from Sherlock. He had to be deeply asleep during this dream.

"Sherlock!" He said, louder now, laying his hands on both Sherlock's shoulders now.

Finally, Sherlock stiffened.

"Sherlock?"

"John? Is it you?"

John let go of Sherlock and switched on the lamp beside Sherlock's bed.

His friend's hair was tousled and there was sweat on his forehead, he was breathing heavily.

Sherlock's eyes focused on John, eying him intensely.

"Thank God you're okay," he said, sat up and hugged his friend.

John was so surprised by Sherlock's action that he stiffened completely. Sherlock had NEVER initiated a hug before, not even with Mrs Hudson. He had seen him kissing her cheek, or Molly's. But he had never hugged anyone like he was hugging him now.

Getting over his surprise, John put his arms around his friend and hugged him back.

"It's okay, Sherlock. I'm fine. Nothing happened," he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice.

Finally, Sherlock seemed to return to reality and loosened his grip on John.

"What did you dream about?" John asked quietly.

"I…," Sherlock started and finally drew back and looked at John.

"I am sorry about waking you up, John."

"Sherlock. It's okay, that's what friends are for. Now please tell me what you dreamt about."

"I don't remember."

"Why do you lie to me, Sherlock? You just hugged me, for God's sake. You were scared as hell. Now tell me or I'll leave and go back to bed."

 _Not a real threat but Sherlock looked frightened anyway._

"Please, stay. I'll tell you."

* * *

Back in London, Mary was disappointed that she hadn't heard from John all day.

Okay, his phone battery may be empty now but still - Sherlock had a phone, too, so why didn't he use it to get in touch with his future fiancé? What were those two doing in Wales in bloody winter anyway, she thought as she opened the door to her flat at six in the morning. When she had suggested the holiday, she had secretly hoped that John and Sherlock would leave the country, perhaps for a warmer location during the winter.

She had been gone all night, meeting people that were involved in the planning of Sherlock Holmes' final demise.

After all, he was responsible that her former boss was dead. And all his business partners as well, dead or in prison. Sherlock had done a thorough job in destroying Jim's network, but he had never been aware of her existence.

During all the years she had worked with Moriarty, she had seen him as an equal in intelligence and connections into the underworld.

Then, Jim had met Sherlock and had been fascinated by the man. Finally, he had met someone who could put up with him. _He_ had never seen her as an equal, but she had still adored him, even if he was a little crazy.

The truth was, she admired Sherlock to some extent, too. Now that he had finally returned from the dead and she had met him through John, she could see why Jim had liked him. He was quick and his deductions astute.

John. She really liked him and it was easy to fall in love with him. Not the great, untamed, wild love of her life, but a good relationship with a very nice and honest, but very soon broken, man.

Mary realized that she truly missed his presence, although he would have really been in the way this week.

When Sherlock was truly and finally gone, he would marry her and she would be the only important person in his life. She realized it was a small price to pay.

They would start a family and she could be happy with John, and once he had gotten over his friend's death – again – he would be happy, too.

* * *

 _Please review :-) - Thanks!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N : I'd really love to hear from you readers if you still like this little story of mine. A little review would do wonders for me :-)_

 _Many thanks again to my friend and beta Christine._

* * *

Chapter 7

"Make yourself comfortable, John, this is going to take awhile."

"Alright then," John said and stood up and walked around the bed and slid between the sheets on the right side of the bed.

"Why did you even book two rooms?" Sherlock asked derisively.

"Can't remember," John said with a small smile.

"Now tell me."

Sherlock virtually braced himself for baring his soul to John once again. He had told him more about the things he felt these days than he ever had told _anyone_ during his whole life. It was exhausting and he still felt unsure about the reactions that his confessions were causing on John's side. But if he couldn't trust him, _whom_ could he trust?

"My nightmare is about you in that bonfire. I…am always too late to come for you in my dream and you _always_ die in there. You just woke me up when I had pulled you out of the fire, burnt and dead."

"But I am here, Sherlock, nothing happened to me - thanks to you."

"I always have to remind myself of the fact when I wake up from that dream. I am sorry about my…reaction, John."

"It's perfectly understandable, Sherlock. And I don't mind being hugged by you, I was just surprised.

Do you have any idea why your mind is suggesting you that I didn't survive that fire?"

"No. Not really."

"Mmh. Anything else I should know?"

"Mary's there. She's laughing at me when I see you lying there, dead. But I mostly wake up before that happens."

"Sherlock, why didn't you tell me about all this before?" John asked quietly, his voice soft.

His friend stayed silent for a long time.

"Because I didn't want to appear weak. It is only a dream after all and I am terrified every time I wake up from it. I've been tortured, John, and it's true I also dream about that, but this dream is much more intense. I…" Sherlock seemed to stop himself from going on.

"You what?" John dug deeper.

Sherlock turned around and look directly into John's eyes. His gaze was still hesitant, his expression unsure.

"You know you can trust me, Sherlock."

There were so many things that Sherlock wanted to tell John. Yet his tongue was tied. Could he really confess to his best friend that he was lost in feelings since John had almost died right before his eyes.

He decided on telling him the half-truth.

"Since I've seen you in that bonfire, I am terrified of losing you. I realized that our friendship was at stake when Mary and I came to your rescue and if we had not arrived in time, you would have died not knowing how much I … value your company and friendship."

He looked down at the sheets to avoid John's gaze.

"Sherlock, look at me."

He looked up to find John looking intensely at him.

"I am here now and I have forgiven you. Completely. And I'm not going anywhere, so no need to worry," he said quietly, his voice full of honesty and compassion.

"I don't deserve you, John, I really don't. I lie to you and let you believe that I'm dead for almost two years and yet here you are, only three weeks after my return to England, standing - or rather lying - by my side and comforting me," he said, not without disdain for himself in his voice.

"That's what friends are for, I guess."

"If you say so," Sherlock gave in. He really had no idea how to behave in a true friendship. Before he had left John behind, he assumed that he had been the one to take everything John could give and had not given back John anything in return. He believed it was time to change that now, he just had no clue how to do it.

"Yes, they are," John interrupted his thoughts.

"Did your dream always end this way? With Mary standing there laughing in your face? Or did this only start after Mycroft told you about her?"

Sherlock sighed.

"This started a couple of days after the fire, but it always ended this way, yes."

"So your suspicions went right into your subconscious – interesting," was all John commented about the fact. He yawned.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" John asked.

"If it doesn't bother you too much, yes I would." He simply was too tired now for being dishonest or polite.

"Night, Sherlock."

Seconds later, John seemed to have fallen asleep. He truly envied John for his ability to fall asleep so fast after almost...anything.

Sherlock didn't need much sleep, but if he needed some, he almost always needed an hour to calm his mind down enough to fall asleep.

It was pretty much the same now. He had confessed how terrified he was of losing John and the Bonfire incident had somewhat fuelled that. However, he had still not enough courage to confess his newfound feelings that he was still trying to identify. This was leading nowhere now, he decided.

Actively listening to John's steady breathing, Sherlock feel asleep in record time.

* * *

John woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Somehow, the morning light came from the wrong side of the room. Then he remembered that he was still in Sherlock's room and in his friend's bed.

He heard now Sherlock's breathing close to him. Very close to him. He opened his eyes and slowly turned around. Sherlock's face now was only inches away from his own, his friend's breath warm on his skin. He still seemed to be fast asleep and John had time to watch his face in detail. His expression was relaxed and he had a slight stubble on his chin.

Somehow, it still didn't feel awkward to wake up beside Sherlock. The presence of the other seemed to calm them both. John's sleep had been dreamless and deep and he felt well rested, despite the interruption through Sherlock's nightmare.

He was still in awe that Sherlock had actually told him about the nightmare and that it had been about him. Now that he had time to think about it, John had to ask himself if the nightmare Sherlock had told him about two nights ago had really been about Serbia or if he had only evaded the truth that night with that story. He would ask him later. Still- the trust Sherlock was showing him with speaking about his most inner fears was something new for John. Sherlock had always put on a mask when it had come to his personal feelings and he had _never_ once said how or what he felt.

John asked himself how he felt right now. _I feel warm and cosy in this bed. It's nice to wake up next to the person you would trust with your life. I feel safe with him. I never felt like this with any woman,_ he also could not help but realize. _I felt cosy and warm with women, too, but never safe. And not this relaxed, because I never opened up to them as much as I did with Sherlock. Do I even have a chance with a woman any more? Am I even able to trust another woman again after Mary?_

"Is it truly this bad to wake up next to me?" Sherlock's deep voice interrupted his thoughts and he startled a little.

"Of course not. I was just thinking. Good morning." He gave Sherlock a small smile.

"Bad thoughts from the expression on your face."

"Yep."

"So you don't want to tell me?"

"You really want to know?"

"You listened to me last night, so I thought…" Sherlock answered, but sounding unsure now.

"Yeah, you're right," John had to admit. His stomach rumbled.

"But let's go and have breakfast first."

During breakfast, they both forgot about John's troubles and enjoyed their eggs, ham and toast with lots of black coffee and orange juice.

John picked up their rental car and they went to visit the Eden project.

They spent the day exploring, talking and laughing just as normal friends. Only when they returned to their hotel in the late afternoon, their thoughts went back to the task ahead.

"I should really text Mary about what we did today and tell her how much I miss her. I hope I haven't kept too silent during the last couple of days," John said as they were sitting down in the lobby and ordered some tea.

He pulled out his mobile and switched it on.

"Perhaps you should call her from my phone. If you talk to her now, you can practice talking to her now that you know everything. Might make your meeting back in London easier," Sherlock suggested.

Although he had no desire to talk to Mary at all, John knew his friend was right.

"I guess you're right."

Sherlock was already getting up to leave him alone for the call, but John wanted him to stay.

"Stay, Sherlock. I could really need your support here."

Sherlock smiled at him and sat back down.

John dialled Mary's number and took a deep breath while the phone made the connection.

"Yes?" Mary's voice answered after the third ring.

"Hi Mary, it's John."

"Hi darling, how are you? Everything all right?"

"Yes, I thought I'd call. After all those texts I wanted to hear your voice again so I borrowed Sherlock's phone."

Sherlock nodded at him to continue, so he must have sounded okay.

"That's so sweet of you, darling. I really miss talking to you, too. How have you been out there in Cornwall? How's the weather?"

"It's brilliant here. We're almost always outdoors and Sherlock's actually not bored. We must come back here one day together. How's London?" He had locked eyes with Sherlock during the conversation, it kept him steady and talking to Mary was easier than he had anticipated.  
"It's a bit lonely here without you, darling, but I'll manage. Only three days left until you come home, so I'll keep burying my head in work at the clinic. When will you be back on Saturday?"

"Train's arriving at Paddington at 4.30pm. I think I'll be home by five then."

"How are things between you and Sherlock then? Everything all right?"

They had discussed this question upfront and had decided to tell her a half-truth.

"Mostly, yes. We're getting alone fine again and it sometimes already feels like the old days…"

"But?" Mary sensed his played hesitance.

"The thing is, I don't think I will ever trust him completely again. Too much has happened. He is really trying and I think we will be good friends again. Perhaps the trust will come back with time. I really hope it does," he added.

"It will, darling, I'm sure. Just give it some time."

"Thanks, Mary. Gotta go now, Sherlock's coming back in. Love you."

"Love you, too. Bye."

John let out the breath he'd been holding.

"If I didn't know it better, I wouldn't suspect anything. She's as sweet as always."

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked.

"I will be. Just give me a minute."

Sherlock stayed silent for a while.

"You were brilliant, John. She won't suspect anything when you go back to her on Saturday."

"It was only a phone call, Sherlock. My heart is beating as if I did a sprint a couple of minutes ago. I still have to remind me that she is not trustworthy when she is talking to me like that."

"That's what made you fall for her. It's her strategy. Being sweet and understanding."

"I know," John sighed.

"It will only be for a couple of days, John."

"I know," he repeated, but sounding defeated.

* * *

The rest of the week in Cornwall was spent with walking along the coast, planning and more sightseeing.

The nightmares were kept at bay with John silently joining Sherlock in his room and sleeping there when Sherlock woke up from them.

They had daily phone calls with Mycroft and his team to plan ahead. The video that would supposedly show Moriarty's return was finished. John and Sherlock had planned that John stayed at least for three more days with Mary to observe her actions and reactions. It was going to be a hard three days but they hoped to gain enough information in this time before they would confront and arrest Mary.

As much as John enjoyed the time with Sherlock, he couldn't help but dread their return to London. He could push those thoughts away during the days easily but in the evenings they always returned and he discussed them with Sherlock. His friend was learning to listen and respected John's feelings. Something that John wasn't used to but he found he liked it a lot. Sherlock had changed in his two years away and it was as if he was learning to feel and empathize with others, or at least with him.

Inevitably, Saturday arrived.

John had slept in Sherlock's bed again. He had wordlessly joined when Sherlock had woken from the (torture) nightmare and John had padded over to calm down his friend. Then he had just slipped into his side of the bed and they had fallen asleep together.

They had never discussed their arrangement, but it had become a habit within the week. John secretly wondered what would happen when Sherlock was back alone again at Baker Street or when he had moved back there. Would Sherlock even sleep during the next couple of days when there was so much at stake?

Their alarm went off at seven a.m. and John returned into his room to take a shower in his bathroom. John thought back to the last evening when the hot water ran down his back in the shower. They had an exquisite dinner in a local pub with too much wine and too much food. It had been one of their best evenings together.  
He was sad that their week together was now definitely over. It had been good to be away from it all: London, work, Mary, memories. It felt as if he and Sherlock had made a fresh start and he decided it had just been that. They had both changed during the last two years and had opened up to each other considerably more. They both knew now what their friendship meant for the other one and that it was indeed rock-solid.

He decided in that instant that they would return here next winter.

The train took the two friends back to London in what seemed no time at all. It was time to say goodbye at Paddington Station.

They deboarded the train and silently walked along the platform until the reached the end of it.

"Sherlock," John began, slightly out of breath, "would you please stop for a minute?"

His friend stopped.

John cleared his throat, unsure how to continue.

"This is somehow feeling like a goodbye to me even when I know that it's not. I know it's only going to be a couple of days but you need to know how much I enjoyed this week with you. I think it was one of the best weeks I've ever had, to be honest. And you don't have to say anything in return, I just want you to know that. Whatever happens from now on, I want you to know that I've been very happy during the last week. I need to go back to Mary now, but would it be okay if I hugged you? Just for some reassurance?" He quickly looked into Sherlock's eyes but they conveyed no expression but then his face changed into a tiny smile. He nodded.

John awkwardly hugged him, but it felt good nevertheless.

Suddenly, he could hear Sherlock's deep voice in his ear.

"Dito."

"To all of it," Sherlock added.

A shiver ran down John's spine.

Reassured, John left Sherlock without further words and headed to the underground station. He steeled himself to meet Mary.

* * *

Sherlock needed a moment before he walked out of Paddington station to find a cab. What was it with John to always find the right words to say? To express his feelings so acutely?

Being hugged by John felt natural now and he didn't mind it at all any more. In fact, Sherlock felt like touching John all the time now.

As soon as everything was sorted out with Mary, he would try identify what was going on inside him and if there was a way to do something about it.

He picked up his holdall and rushed out of the station to find a cab that brought him back to Baker Street. While they had been away and Mary had been working at the clinic, Mycroft's people had planted cameras and microphones in John and Mary's flat.

So far, nothing unusual had been seen or heard by Mycroft's people. Mary really was careful and professional about her plans but Sherlock as well as Mycroft never doubted that she was preparing something nonetheless.

 _Three days only,_ he reminded himself when he finally opened the door to an empty 221b.

He got rid of his coat and the bag and immediately booted his computer to watch John's return to Mary's apartment. Mycroft's people had also set up an extra, larger monitor for Sherlock for him being able to watch Mary's face in detail.

Right now, Mary was pacing up and down in the living room, obviously anticipating John's return.

It was almost five now so he had to be back any second now.

Sherlock quickly dashed into the kitchen and switched on the kettle for some tea. He didn't expect to get much sleep during the next three nights. His eyes never left the monitor as he waited for the kettle to boil.

With the tea ready now, he returned to the table and sat down when he saw John coming into the living room, greeting Mary. She greeted him with a smile, that really seemed genuine, and John hugged her tightly, then kissed her on the lips. Several times.

Of course, Sherlock had expected to see this but his stomach almost cramped in pain while he had to watch. Only half an hour ago, John's arms had been around him and now they were around a really dangerous woman.

He realized he _had_ to distance himself from his feelings if he wanted to survive the next three days. John would be kissing Mary more often, perhaps even have sex with her, right before Sherlock's very eyes. He couldn't dare to risk anything because his feelings for John were in the way.

Sherlock watched John and Mary go into their kitchen, preparing tea and chatting away. John looked happy to be back and Sherlock realized that John was truly able to deceive Mary. He himself wouldn't have suspected a thing they way John behaved towards her.

John knew where Mycroft's cameras were hidden in the apartment and when Mary left the kitchen for a moment to set the table, he looked right into the camera, conveying his feelings to Sherlock.

It was difficult, but he would make it.

Mary returned. Sherlock watched the couple having tea and ordering in dinner for later, as John had expressed he wanted to stay at home tonight after having been away for the week. He switched on the telly and Mary snuggled up against him and the couple watched TV together and waited for the food to arrive.

The broadcast of Moriarty's return was scheduled for nine pm. It would interrupt the program on all British TV channels so there was no chance of missing it. Some people would surely remember the man that had dismantled Sherlock so thoroughly after breaking into the Tower of London.

Around eight pm, Mrs Hudson came up the stairs and brought Sherlock some dinner.

"I hoped that John would return with you, Sherlock. Did you fight again during your holiday? You don't look too happy, dear."

"I don't need dinner, Mrs Hudson. What I need is to be left alone." He realized he was being ruder than he should have been, but somehow he was still unnerved by watching John caressing Mary's back on the monitor.

"No need to be rude, Sherlock." She had the nerve to slap him on his arm.

Perhaps he deserved it. Only now she saw what could be seen on the monitor.

"Oh, Sherlock, you can't watch John's private life like this. This is not fair to John. Shame on you, Sherlock."

"It's not what you think, Mrs Hudson, now calm down please. He knows that I am watching him. His Mary is a villain and he's only returned to her so that we can finally trick her into doing something wrong."

"A villain? Poor John, he will be heartbroken."

"He actually isn't, Mrs Hudson. I'm sorry about being rude, but either please be silent or go away. I need to concentrate. Please."

"I'll go when you promise to eat, Sherlock."

"Promised," he answered absentmindedly and Mrs Hudson finally went downstairs again.

Automatically, he picked up the fork and ate a few bites, realizing he really was hungry. After all, he had only had breakfast and nothing else and his body seemed to have gotten used to being fed on a regular basis during the last week.

While he ate, the clock inexorably neared nine pm. At ten to nine, Mycroft called.

"They seem very cosy on their sofa. I never thought John could be such a good actor," Sherlock heard his brother say.

"Me neither. But this is almost Oscar-worthy."

"Everything's prepared, Sherlock. I have several psychologists with me to watch her, I'll call again as soon as we've analysed her reaction."

With that, Mycroft ended the call.

Sherlock realized he was nervous. He hoped John's gun was fully loaded and on top of his things in the holdall that had been thrown carelessly into a corner in case anything went wrong from here.

At five to nine, John stood up and went into the loo. A camera was hidden there, too, and he silently looked into the camera, staring directly into Sherlock's eyes. Of course John could not see him but he stared back at the well-known face and recognized John was nervous too. His friend took several calming breaths, pressed the flush, and went back into the living room.

Nine pm. Mary was still snuggling up with John, kissing him now and then, with the clear intention of seducing him later.

"I love you, John. I hope you know that," she said to John. Before John could be forced to say anything back, the picture on the TV changed and after a short test picture, Moriarty could be seen on the screen.

He was smiling into the camera, if his facial expression could be named a smile at all, and said in a sing-song voice: "Did you miss me? Did you miss me?"

Mary abruptly let go of John, sat up straight and stared at the screen.

The video repeated. "Did you miss me? Did you miss me?"

Then, the normal TV programme resumed as if nothing had happened.

"Did you see that, John?"

"Yes, of course I did. My God, he's back."

"M… You know him?" She had almost said his name. Almost. Damnit.

"Yes," was all John said, his face wearing a shocked expression now.

A subtitle appeared on the screen. _We apologize for the short interruption of our programme. More details about the interruption in the news at 9.30._

"Well, who is he then?" Mary asked, her voice sounded almost aggressive now. All the sweetness from moments before had vanished.

"Moriarty."

"Sherlock's enemy?"

"I've got to call Sherlock!" John sprang up and began searching for his mobile phone in his jacket.

He watched John dialling his number and waited for the phone to ring.

"John?" he greeted him.

"Moriarty, he's back," John said, sounding genuinely in shock and out of breath.

"Yes, I've seen it on TV."

"Are you okay? Shall I come over to Baker Street?"

Sherlock carefully watched Mary's expression when John asked the question. Her look was full of disapproval.

"Stay where you are, John. I saw the man shooting the back of his head off, I will call Mycroft to research this. It can't be him."

"You sure?"

"Yes." Sherlock ended the call.

They had agreed to that conversation in case Mary could overhear something.

"I can't believe it," he could hear John say to Mary via the speakers now.

"Is that the man that made Sherlock fake his death?" Mary asked, desperately trying to keep her emotions hidden now, as Sherlock could see.

"Yes, and if he really is back, Sherlock is in danger."

"What did Sherlock say?"

"That it can't be him because he shot the back of his head off."

"And what do you think?"

"The only I thing I know is there that was no body on that roof. I'm not so sure as Sherlock. God, if anything happens to him…" He trailed off.

"You really don't want to go and see him?" Mary asked again, obviously to get rid of John now, now that she had come to terms with the news.

"He doesn't want me to. I'll stay here."

"Come here, darling," she smiled at John and hugged him tightly. "This must be such a shock for you."

"It is, Mary. It is."

John sat back down on the couch, Mary joining him again but no longer snuggling up against him. She retraced in the far corner of the small couch, thinking, while John continued to stare at the TV.

"Let's wait and see what they say in the news," he said.

* * *

John had been aware that putting up an act in front of Mary would be difficult. He had just never expected it to be this exhausting. Every time she touched or kissed he felt repelled by her.

From her reaction to the little Moriarty sequence on TV it was obvious she knew exactly who the man was. And that she was terrified that he was still alive. She might have been his boss, and perhaps Mycroft had been wrong about that, but she was nevertheless afraid.

Now John had seen for himself that Mary was a fraud and every doubt that he had still had vanished and the repugnance he had already felt for her was now quickly turning into something akin to hatred. It would be getting harder and harder to tolerate her in the next few days, but he was acutely aware that he needed to keep up the show.

They didn't speak until the news began.

The news presenter said that someone had hacked into all TV stations across the country, had broadcasted the little Moriarty clip and had vanished right after that. They showed old news clips about his case and his denunciation of Sherlock Holmes two years ago. There was not much left to say after that and when the presenter changed the subject, John switched off the TV.

He turned and looked at Mary.

"Everything okay?" He asked carefully.

"Of course not, with the only man back that threatened your best friend. You seem to be awfully calm about it now."

"Naturally I was shocked when I saw him but the longer I think about it I don't think he will do anything soon. If he really is back, he just wanted to show off tonight and let Sherlock and me go crazy about it. When we know more from Mycroft and he confirms Moriarty is back, I will start to worry. But not tonight. You shouldn't worry, too. I'll go and take a shower and head into bed then. I'm exhausted."

"But you've just been on holiday for a week," Mary complained. John sighed internally.

"So why don't you join me when I finished the shower..." he suggested in what he hoped was a playful tone.

"Perhaps," she said and smiled at him. "I really missed you, darling."

John turned and headed into the bathroom. He needed to wash off her scent even if she would be joining him in their bed again right after his shower.

"I wonder what she will do when I shower, Sherlock. Watch carefully," he whispered in the direction of the camera. He turned around and removed his clothes, awfully aware that Sherlock and some twenty MI6 people were watching him. Hopefully, their attention was on Mary.

It wasn't at all reassuring that he didn't know what was going on outside the bathroom but it couldn't be helped. If she called someone, Sherlock would see it.

He had to admit that Mary had concealed her reaction well enough and perhaps he wouldn't have suspected anything if he hadn't looked out for it. Mostly, her eyes and her voice had betrayed her and she sounded somewhat shrill since nine o'clock.

He towelled himself off behind the shower curtain and then went into the bedroom to find a pyjama.

Mary came in a few moments after he had set himself up in the bed with a book.

"Tired?" he asked and tried to smile at her.

"Not really, but I've developed an awful headache since nine. Is it okay if we just sleep tonight?"

"Course it is."

"Sorry, darling," Mary said and settled into the bed beside him.

"Like an old married couple, in bed at ten, reading and sleeping, and we're not even married yet."

John had to stop himself from reacting. He had truly forgotten about the outstanding marriage proposal during the last week.

"I'm sorry, too, darling," he said. "I will take care of that soon enough," he said and stared back into his book, not seeing any of the words. After a while, he turned a page, but then shut the book, switched off the light and pretended to go to sleep.

Mary took a pill for her headache and switched off the light too, but hugged him from behind, obviously waiting for him to fall asleep.

Three hours later, John did manage to fall asleep when Mary didn't stir behind him any longer. Her breaths were long and even and he let himself go then, trying to get rid off the stress of the day.

At three am, Mary silently slipped out of bed. She went into the living room, not bothering to turn on the lights, grabbed the sofa blanket and a phone that was hidden in a cupboard behind some books.

Sherlock was still wide awake and watched her carefully. Mycroft's men obviously hadn't found this phone – _idiots!_ \- and if she left the flat for her call they wouldn't be able to hear her. He phoned his brother.

"Do you see that? She's leaving the flat! We can't hear what she says!"

"I'll try to get my men close enough to listen in with a directional microphone. Give me a minute."

"A minute's too long!" Sherlock was almost shouting now.

On the monitor, John was still fast asleep, not noticing that anything was amiss.

"She already ended the call, Sherlock, we were not fast enough, sorry. It would seem best if John is bugging the phone tomorrow."

Mary was already heading back into bed now, unnoticed by John.

They had nothing on her. Yet.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N : I am so sorry this update took that long. I was on holiday on August and then my beta went on holiday just after I finished this monster of a chapter. Hope you're still with me here and still interested._  
 _The next chapter will be up a lot sooner, I promise!_

* * *

Chapter 8

Mary slipped back into their bed as silently as possible. She had waited almost five hours until she was completely sure that John was indeed deeply asleep.

She was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that James Moriarty was supposedly still alive. _How can it be? Sherlock saw him blowing his own brains out?_

Nevertheless, someone had hacked into the TV network and released that short video.

If her former boss really was back, he would be very disappointed that she _still_ hadn't killed Sherlock although he had been back for almost three weeks now. What should she tell him when he confronted her about her failing her task?

Shortly before Sherlock's Fall, Moriarty had told her about his plans around Sherlock and she had been one of the Snipers, targeting Lestrade.  
If anything had gone wrong with his plans, he had made her promise that she was the one to kill Sherlock. Sherlock was still alive and so it seemed was Moriarty and they had come back almost simultaneously. _Damnit_.  
She had been shocked to hear from John that Moriarty had killed himself only to ensure Sherlock's death. Perhaps he would have been bored without him and had seen death as the better alternative?

 _Had he faked his death just like Sherlock? Was that why they had never recovered a body from that roof?_

Mary had tried to call her former contact for Moriarty. If she had wanted to talk to him, she always had to go through him to be called back by Jim.

The number had been out of service and it was most likely that Sherlock had eliminated him together with the rest of Moriarty's former partners. Sherlock had really been thorough with Moriarty's network.

She planned to take Monday off, faking illness and letting John go to work alone. She needed to get into action as soon as possible.

Best not to disappoint her former boss.

* * *

Sherlock headed to MI5 at seven in the morning. He didn't care it was Sunday and he didn't care that neither he or is brother hadn't slept a wink during the night.

Mycroft was already waiting for him, handing him a large cup of strong, black coffee.

"Good morning, brother dear. The psychologists have already done their analysis during the night and are now waiting for you to present their results."

"I doubt they saw anything more than I have but let's see what they have to say."

The two brothers went into the meeting room, where three people were already waiting for them.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Sherlock greeted the men, causing a raised eyebrow on Mycroft's side due to Sherlock's rather unusual politeness.

"Good morning, Mr Holmes, Mr. Holmes," they greeted them back.

"What can you tell me about Mary Morstan's behaviour last night?" Sherlock inquired immediately.

"She is quite unsettled by the video footage, but she also acts very convincingly and only slipped almost once when she pretended not to know who Moriarty was. For us it is quite clear that she does know him and that she fears him."

"How would you know she fears him?" Sherlock asked.

"It's in her eyes. Look and see."

On their laptops, they searched for the scene from the video footage and then played on the large screen in the front of the meeting room.

The camera's focus was on Mary's eyes while she had been staring at the TV screen. She was looking relaxed, calm and happy, snuggling there on the sofa with John.

As Moriarty's video aired, her body went rigid and her eyes widened for a moment. After no more than two seconds, she had herself und control again and was talking to John about the incident. But the fear in her eyes was still there.

When she was smiling at John the fear never left her eyes and Sherlock had to ask himself how he had failed to see that. Had he been paying too much attention to John, constantly worrying about his safety and the possibility that Mary might hurt him?  
He felt shaken about his inability to recognize Mary's fear that was now clear as daylight on the video footage.  
He _had_ seen her uneasiness shortly after the video had aired but he hadn't watched her eyes, only her body language and her words.

She really was a good actress. But so was John, it seemed.

"Your friend Mr Watson is conducting himself admiringly calm in a situation like this. It's almost unnoticeable something is off in their domestic situation. Of course he showed some disturbance after the video aired, but he only let his guard down when he was alone and talked to you over the camera, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock nodded.

"So if Mary Morstan is afraid of Moriarty, there is no way that she was actually his boss. She must have been working for him, then," he deduced. He had been wrong about that, too.  
 _Am I losing my abilities or am I just constantly distracted by John's presence and my feelings for him? This is not good._ But this wasn't the right time to dwell on that.

"Yes, we can agree on that," one of the psychologists confirmed.

"I need to talk to John. Now," he said sharply, turning to Mycroft.

"No, Sherlock. You have to wait until he is alone. Mary must not sense that anything is amiss. He is still asleep according to the surveillance and he will call you anyway regarding Moriarty. That's what we've planned, remember?" Mycroft said, trying to calm his brother.

"But we didn't plan on the fact the she was working _for_ him."

"I know, Sherlock. But that doesn't change our plans for the moment. We don't know whom she called and we don't know her agenda. Please do try to be patient for once, Sherlock."

 _No, not when John could be in danger._ He didn't say it out loud, but Mycroft understood anyway.

"He's not in any danger, we're watching and there are agents in front of the house."

"I know." _But it's not enough._

Sherlock went back home after they had gone through the rest of the analysis. They hadn't seen much more than he had apart from Mary's ongoing fear.

He made himself a light breakfast and watched John getting up and ready for the day.

Had it only been yesterday that they had returned from their holiday and had breakfast together? The holiday already seemed to be ages away now. Sherlock wasn't really tired. He had had enough rest during the last week but he felt exhausted. His fear for John was eating up his reserves.

Finally, at around ten, John called as planned. Mary was clearing their breakfast table behind him.

"Hello, John," he greeted him.

"Hey, Sherlock," John greeted him back, his voice soft and low.

"How are you?" Sherlock could not help but ask.

"Fine. And you? Any news from Mycroft?"

"Yes, actually. But I don't want talk about it over the phone. Could we meet?"

This was not something they had planned but he hoped that John would play along.

"You think he might have your phone bugged?"

So John _was_ playing along nicely.

"In an hour at our usual bench in the park?"

"Yes."

"Mary?"

"She's fine. She is having a headache and she believes it is will be turning into a migraine soon. She won't mind if I am gone for an hour, don't you, darling?" He said, turning around and smiling at her.

"Not at all. I'm of no use today anyway."

"See you then," John said and ended the call.

"He doesn't want to tell what Mycroft found out over the phone. His brother thinks his phone may be bugged," John explained to Mary.

"Oh that's not good, I hope they can clear this all up soon, darling." She kissed him and headed to the sofa, lying down and pulling a blanket over her.

"Can I get you anything? Painkillers? Tea?"  
"No, I think I just need some more sleep. I have no idea what brought this on, I haven't had a migraine in ages."

Sherlock pulled away his eyes from the screen with uneasiness. He knew his brother's men were watching but that didn't make him help feel better. Now, he definitely needed a shower after the last night before he went to meet John.

Half an hour later, Sherlock grabbed his coat, ready to leave 221B. A last look at the screens told him that John had already left their flat to meet him. Mary was still lying on the sofa, pretending to be sick. Sherlock was pretty sure she was only feigning that migraine. Perhaps she only wanted to make sure that John didn't return in case he had forgotten something.

Outside, the weather was cold and the air was damp. Sherlock realized he would have to walk fast to keep warm in this weather. How beautiful and warm for a winter had the last week in Cornwall been compared to the drizzle here in London. He sped up his pace, looking forward to meeting John again. He had managed two years without him, albeit not very well, but after this week together he had to admit himself how much he missed having his best friend around him.

* * *

John was quickening his pace at the prospect of seeing Sherlock again. He had let out a long steady breath as soon as he had left the flat and had turned around the first corner. He took the first train that arrived at the tube station rather than waiting for the next one, that would have taken him directly to the park, and decided to walk the rest of the distance.

He checked his watch and realized he was ten minutes early when he entered the park. He didn't care and would wait for Sherlock on "their" bench. They had often sat there before Sherlock's Fall when they had gone for a walk in the park.  
When he turned around the corner, he saw Sherlock already sitting there, coat collar turned up against the cold, dark blue scarf in place. He couldn't help but grin at the thought that Sherlock might have been as eager to see him again just as he was.

Sherlock was now noticing his approach and stood up to meet him. He wasn't exactly smiling, more as if he was trying to hide it.

"Sherlock," he greeted him, walked up to him and hugged him. Sherlock was instantly hugging back without thinking.

John let go after a couple of seconds, grinning.

"It is so good to see you, Sherlock," he admitted quietly.

"Dito," Sherlock answered him, just like he had at Paddington station yesterday. _Was it really only yesterday? The last 20 hours feel more like a whole week…_

Finally, they let completely go of each other and sat down on the bench, the coldness of the day forgotten.

"How are you holding up, John?" Sherlock asked him. John was a bit surprised about this start of their conversation. He had expected that Sherlock would feed him with information and plans right from the start. They were on a case, after all.

"It's exhausting, but I'm holding up. You think she noticed anything?"

"No, not at all. I am honestly surprised by your acting skills, John. You're doing brilliantly," Sherlock admitted with a small smile.

"How did you manage to fall asleep at all with her beside you?" Sherlock inquired next.

"It wasn't easy. I think it took me nearly three hours to fall asleep. I wasn't all that tired after our holiday and my nerves were all heightened with Mary lying next to me. At one point, I decided that I was safe enough with you watching over us and I feel asleep soon after that," John admitted.

Sherlock seemed taken aback by the amount of trust John had in him and kept silent for awhile.

"I just knew she wouldn't hurt me last night," he added as an afterthought.

"So, what did you see on the cameras?" he asked, curious about what he might have missed.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"She left the flat to make a call."

"When?" _How did I not notice her leaving the bed? Damnit._

"Around three in the morning. You were fast asleep. There is a phone hidden in the cupboard in the dining room, behind the books. We didn't know about it and don't know whom she called. I am quite angry with my brother as you can imagine, his people were too far away to use a directional microphone. The call was very short though, she returned to your bed in less than two minutes."

"So we have nothing on her. What do you need me to do?"

John realized he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Mary had to be convicted and he would finally be free again. Free to live with Sherlock.

"We need you to find the phone so that Mycroft's men can have it bugged."

"Right. How do I do that without her noticing? It's likely she will take it with her when she leaves the flat."

"You think you could do it yourself while she's home or asleep?"

"I think so."

"I'll call Mycroft's men on my way home. They will give you what's necessary. It shouldn't be too difficult."

John hoped his technical abilities were enough to do this.

"Okay. What else did you see via the cameras?"

"She's afraid. Truly afraid of Moriarty."

"What?"

"I think we were wrong. She was working for him and not the other way round. I am still wondering how I failed to see that," Sherlock mused.

"That changes everything. I think it's most likely she tried to contact him last night, now that she thinks he's back." Somehow, John was relieved to hear that Mary had not been the head of it all.

"Yes, that's what Mycroft and I believe as well. And if she's still afraid of him, there is something she should have done for him and didn't. Most likely kill me," Sherlock said dryly.

"Why do you think that?" John asked, shocked that Sherlock was being so calm about this.

"I think it's still true she waited for my return at your side, so what else could have been her mission other than killing me? It's quite obvious."

John realized that Sherlock was right.

"How do we keep _you_ safe then?"

"Mycroft's agents and surveillance of the flat."

"God, Sherlock, I am sorry."

"Why? None of this is your fault. She would have found me, with our without you. If you hadn't started the relationship with her, she would still have been watching you from afar. Better the devil you know."

"Perhaps you're right, but still."

"Nothing will happen to me. We will watch her closely and as soon as she starts to move and we have enough evidence, Lestrade will arrest her."

"You informed him? What did he say?"

"We haven't done it yet. Mycroft wanted to wait until we have more evidence."

"I see." He sighed. "What a mess."

"Indeed."

For a while, they both kept silent and followed their own thoughts.

John's mind was in a whirlwind. He still felt guilty about letting Mary into their lives. Of course, Sherlock was right that it was better having her close by than being watched from afar. Still, he was truly afraid for Sherlock. If anything happened to him and he lost him again, he would not recover. He would not be able to handle the grief once more.

"John?" Sherlock's voice interrupted his thoughts.

He turned and looked into his friend's eyes.

"Don't worry, nothing will happen to me."

"How can you say that, Sherlock? She is a professional and won't be easy to trick. I still wonder how _I_ managed to do it in the last twenty hours. We need to be careful. Both of us. I could not bear to lose you again, Sherlock."

"I know."

After that, they discussed what to tell Mary about their meeting and the news on Moriarty. They hoped she would buy their story and parted ways fifteen minutes later with a handshake. Somehow, another hug would have felt too final and John wouldn't have that. On his way back to the flat, he thought back to their goodbye in the park and – was it possible that Sherlock was disappointed that they had not hugged again?

Before the Fall, they had never hugged, even when they hadn't seen each other for a while.

Things had shifted considerably during the last week, John realized.

* * *

When Sherlock returned to 221B, he felt tired. It had been good to meet up with John but now he just wanted everything to be over.

The excitement he normally felt around a case simply wasn't there and John's fear had somehow caught up with him.

He went straight into the kitchen to make some tea to help him warm up again and then returned to the living room to take a look at the screens. Mary was nowhere to be seen.

Instantly, he called his brother.

"Where is she?" He asked before Mycroft could even greet him.

"Outside, trying to make a call again."

"Are your men nearby this time?"

"Yes."

"John will be returning any minute, I will call him now and tell him to wait until she's finished." He ended the call and dialled John's number. The call went straight to the mailbox. Sherlock panicked. Had John switched the phone off or was he simply still down in the tube system? He tried again. Nothing.

If John caught Mary with the phone outside, her reaction was unpredictable. Why did she risk being caught anyway and why didn't she make the call from inside the flat? Had she detected the cameras or the microphones?

His phone rang. It was John. _Thank God._

"John. Where are you?"

"Around the corner of the flat, I had no signal in the tube. Why?"

"Stop. Don't go any further. Mary's outside, talking to someone on that phone. She must not see you and think she's still safe."

"Alright. I stopped. Why is she making the call outside when I am not even home?"

"I have to speak with Mycroft as soon as she's finished the call. Stand by."

He ended the call. His tiredness was gone.

Sherlock redialled Mycroft's number.

"She just went back inside, Sherlock. John can go home."

"Not until you tell me why she was making the call outside with John being gone and whom she called."

"Perhaps she detected one of the microphones, Sherlock. I'm sorry. Mary tried to call several people, only having success with the last one. It seems that – thanks to you – all her former contact persons for Moriarty have vanished."

"Then who _did_ she talk to?"

"We don't know – yet. She called him Michael. It was a pre-paid number and we don't know his last name. Or even if Michael is his real name. We are currently trying to track the signal."

"And what did they talk about?" Sherlock asked impatiently, angry and disappointed that they still didn't have a name and a lead.

"Mary is desperate to find Moriarty. This Michael could not reassure her that he is really dead which is playing into our hands. She told him that she was not able to reach her former contact for Moriarty. Obviously you are the cause for that, little brother. Well done. She is currently desperate to identify a starting point to her search for him."

"Was this Michael able to help her with that?" Sherlock asked.

"No, not at all."

"That's good, it will make her nervous if she has no idea where to start."

"Yes, that's what my team is thinking as well. She has gone back inside the house and hid the phone again. Is John almost home?"

"Yes."

"Tell him to wait. My people will hand him the kit to bug the phone now. Perhaps there is another reason she has left the flat for the call."

"I hope so."

* * *

Mary ended the call with Michael and went back inside. Her mind was in a whirlwind. Michael had no idea how to reach Moriarty and it seemed that Sherlock had been thorough with eliminating Moriarty's network during the last two years. He only had overseen her and Michael as it seemed. She was desperate, she had to admit herself.

Who else than the great James Moriarty himself would have been able to hack into _all_ TV stations for his little broadcast. Which point did he want to prove with it? That they would never be able to catch him?

She knew when Moriarty found her and Sherlock was still alive, she would be very sorry. There was no way around it: She had to kill him. Soon. Tomorrow.

The trouble was: she liked him – she hadn't lied when she had told John after meeting him in the taxi. He certainly was interesting and highly intelligent. But she still loved herself more than Sherlock (or John), so he had to die. The only question was: when and where without John knowing that it was her who had shot his best friend.

Five minutes after she had gone back inside and laid down on the sofa again, John returned from his meeting with Sherlock. Much sooner than she had expected him back, really.

She was lucky that he hadn't caught her outside with her second phone, but she had been watching out for him. Better than being caught inside the flat with a second phone.

* * *

"Hey, how is your headache?" John greeted Mary when he entered their living room.

"Not better, not worse. I guess I will have to sleep it out tonight. At least I hope I will, I'd rather not call in sick tomorrow, we have a lot of patients on our schedule."

 _The clinic. Shit._ He had almost forgotten about work tomorrow. If she called in sick, he hoped that Mycroft's men would be able to follow her wherever she went. _There is absolutely no way I can stay home, too._

"What did Sherlock say?"

"He believes that Moriarty is back for real."

That evening, John had trouble with eating the dinner he had prepared for Mary and himself. His stomach felt tied up and he had to force down every bite of food. Mary didn't seem to notice anything, she was picking at her food, too, due to her ongoing headache. Migraine. Whatever. He didn't really care anymore.

He poured himself another glass of wine to relax when he knew it was risky to get tipsy around Mary. Still, it was easier to play his role with a second glass of wine.

The night didn't turn out any better. He felt exhausted, yes, but not tired. His nerves were on high-alert and he knew he would have to pretend sleep at some point.

Mary, however, seemed to have fallen asleep after minutes next to him. He was relieved he got around having sex with her again tonight. If they didn't find anything on her in the next few days, he knew he was doomed. They had had a rather active sex life before Sherlock's return.

Finally, he fell asleep at three am, only to be woken up again three hours later by his alarm clock. He felt at least ten years older when he left the bed.

When he returned from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, Mary's alarm went off as well.

She turned on the light on the bedside table, holding her head.

"Still not better?" John asked.

"No." With that, she practically jumped out of bed, ran into the bathroom, slammed the door, and vomited.

He followed her into the bathroom. "That bad? Can I help you?"

"No, I'll go back to bed. This migraine is rather bad. Please tell the clinic I try to return tomorrow, alright?"

"Right." He kissed her forehead, smelling the vomit on her. She hadn't faked it. But did she really fell sick? Or was she playing him?

"I'll see you tonight."

"Sorry, darling," she answered but he was already heading through the door.

As soon as he arrived at the clinic, he called Sherlock.

"John."

"Sherlock. Is she still in bed?"

"Yes. But her eyes are open and she seems to be thinking about something. Her vomiting earlier was a fake, she put a finger into her throat to provoke it."

"Shit."

"She is definitely up to something, John."

"Oh God, I don't know if I can get _any_ work done today, Sherlock. This is all such a mess."

There was a pause at Sherlock's end.

"Sherlock? You still there?"  
"Yes, sorry. She's getting up now."

"Call me if she's doing anything, or leaves the flat. I have a patient now but please, keep me up to date."

"Of course, John. Bye."

John put the phone away and called in his first patient of the day. It was going to be a long one.

* * *

Sherlock watched Mary getting dressed and found himself wondering what John might have seen in her and made him fall in love with her. She had a nice enough figure but not any special features. Not that he was on expert on such things or women in general. But still, all of John's other acquaintances he had met before… the Fall, had been very different than Mary.

It must have been the fact that she had been listening to his grief about him, then. This is why John had asked her out, she had been listening and had just been there during the time when he was alone and desperate.

Sherlock was about to dwell on the thought but then he saw Mary drinking a cup of coffee and decided to get one for himself, too. It was going to be another long day.

When he returned to the monitors, Mary was nowhere to be seen. His mobile rang. Mycroft.

"Where the hell is she? I went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and now she's gone. Damnit!" he shouted at his brother.

"She left through the kitchen window. My men are trying to find her."

Sherlock's heart sank.

"Trying to find her? They've lost her already?"

"There are so many backyards in that neighbourhood, it is going to be difficult to locate her."

"Why have you not thought about this before?" He knew he was being cruel now, as he hadn't thought of this possibility as well, but he just a needed a guilty party right now.

"I am sorry, Sherlock. I am doing my best here."

"Call me as soon as you've got her."

He called John.

"Sherlock, what is it?"

"John, it's Mary…" He really didn't know how to say that they had lost track on her an hour after John had left the flat.

"Sherlock?"

He took a deep breath.

"She's gone. She left through the kitchen window while I fetched a cup of coffee. Mycroft informed that they didn't have any men at the backside of the flat. They have no idea where she went. I'm sorry, John."

"It's not your fault. I didn't even think about the possibility that she could leave through a window. You think she know she's being watched?

"I am not sure. Perhaps she is just being careful."

"Where do you think she went?"

"Perhaps to meet a contact. She wasn't dressed differently or anything, like she was on a mission. She also didn't take anything special with her."

"Should I come over? I have my gun with me."

"Mycroft's men are right in front of the door in a car. They should be able to spot her if she really is going to come here. And my gun is here, too."

"Alright, Sherlock, if you say so."

"Don't you have patients this morning?"

"I'm just between two at the moment. You called at the right moment. Keep in touch if there's any news, okay?"

"Promise."

Sherlock ended the call.

If Mary really decided to come to Baker Street, she would need at least another forty-five minutes. That gave him time to prepare himself. He glanced at the monitors once again and went to have a very quick shower.

The next couple of hours seemed to be creeping forward in slow-motion. Baker Street was quiet and Mycroft's men were alert and watching the street. Mycroft had installed a camera above their front door and he could see the pavement and the car with the two agents in it. The shower had refreshed him and the pot of tea he had had done wonders to his tiredness.

Out of sheer boredom, he called Mycroft again and shouted at him for not having found her yet. The CCTVs around London were obviously unable to spot her. After that he called John again and updated him that there was no news. His friend sounded very weary on the phone and Sherlock realized that he sorely missed him, although he had seen him only yesterday.

After that one week in Cornwall, he needed John around him like the air. Two years of absence and then a whole week of his company had made him crave John's presence even more. Without him, he now felt like his other half was missing.

The urge to touch and hug his friend as soon as he was with him had become overwhelming in the last couple of days. Finally, he allowed himself for his thoughts to go further.

 _Perhaps that was what people called "love"? Am I in love with John? Can it really be that I am in love for the first time in my life? And is it possible that he might fall in love with me, too, once this is all over?_

Sherlock was acutely aware that his thoughts about John distracted him and that he should be thinking about the possibilities of Mary's whereabouts, but he found he couldn't help it. He missed John. Perhaps he just should have let him come over when he had offered earlier.

The pot of tea he had drunk had finally made its way through his body. He needed to pee. Urgently. The street seemed still to be quiet for a Monday morning, Mycroft's people were awake.

He took the gun and went into the bathroom.

* * *

After Sherlock's second call, John was not able to fully concentrate on his patients again. He was constantly thinking about what Mary might be up to and if Sherlock could be in danger.

If she really was after Sherlock, she would not have kept a disguise or a gun within their flat. She needed to have another flat or a storage capacity somewhere to have those things kept away from his eyes.

No, he would not do his patients any good if he stayed here and did not listen to their problems. He had to see Sherlock.

John left his office and told the nurses that he didn't feel well (that wasn't even a lie) and needed to get home. If Mary ever found out he would think of a story, but not now.

He needed around thirty minutes from the clinic to Baker Street and hailed a cab. He had a bad feeling in his gut and he needed to see Sherlock right away.

During the taxi ride he could only think about seeing Sherlock again. After very slowly getting used to the thought in the last two years that his best friend was gone, having him back now still felt almost overwhelming. The last week they had shared had felt magical (if one disregarded the journey there) and John found himself thinking about his friend constantly – and he also missed him dearly since they had parted ways on Saturday. The short time in the park yesterday just had not been enough. He told the taxi driver to speed up.

* * *

Finally, Mary arrived at Baker street. She felt elated that nobody seemed to have followed her. She had not been sure if Moriarty or anyone else had been watching her flat and had taken the kitchen window mostly out of safety reasons. The storage capacity she had rented a couple of weeks before she had met John was located in the outskirts of London because it was a lot cheaper there but today the way there felt like a nuisance.

She had picked a dark-haired wig and black clothes and her look could almost be described as gothic now. She had also picked her two sharpest combat knives and her nine millimetre gun.

It was time to finally kill Sherlock. If Moriarty contacted her within the next few days she would still have some explaining to do, but she had fulfilled her mission. Only with two weeks' delay after his reappearance.

She passed the entrance of Baker Street 221B on the other side of the pavement, her sunglasses and dark hair still disguising her. She spotted the car with the agents in front of Sherlock's door immediately. Perhaps Sherlock's brother was afraid of Moriarty coming again after Sherlock as well? Well, he would not need to come personally, she would finish the job for him. Mary walked around the corner into the next street to avoid being seen and having time to think about her strategy.

Killing the two agents at once would not go over smoothly. If Sherlock was alerted in any way, she would not have much chance to kill him. He was too clever for that, she had to admit.

Her escape plan was already in place, she would go to Rome for a couple of weeks and tell John she had faked the migraine and had gotten cold feet for his outstanding marriage proposal. What had kept him from doing that anyway?

It didn't matter anymore. If John or anyone else did not suspect her, she would return as soon as it was safe.

The two knives felt heavy in her hands. She had pocketed them away in her winter coat. The gun was also safely hidden in the waistband of her trousers under her black coat. She approached the car with the agents.

She knocked on the window on the passenger's side and took a step back, readying the knives in her hands.

"How can we help you, Madam?"

"Oh, I'm afraid I got lost," she said in her sweetest voice and a heavy American accent.

"Which direction is Madame Tussaud's again?"

"Right this way around the corner," the agent answered, pointing in the opposite direction she had come from.

The part of the street was still empty. It was time.

"Thank you so much," she said and raised her right hand to throw the knife at the agent on the driver's seat. Before the agent she had just spoken to could react, she took a step forward and cut his throat. The men in the driver's seat had been hit in the chest but was still alive and struggling with the knife. She reached through the window, pulled out the knife again and also cut his throat.

Without hesitating, she turned around and opened the door to Baker Street 221B.

* * *

Sherlock's mobile rang. He had left it in the kitchen on his way to the bathroom. He closed the zip of his pants and headed quickly back into the kitchen, the gun laying forgotten on the side of the tub.

"Mycroft?"

"Get your gun and hide in the flat. She's coming for you. My men are dead. I'm calling John and more agents now. Stay safe."

Just when he put down the phone again on the kitchen table, Mary entered the flat through the kitchen door, smiling falsely at him.

"Hello, Sherlock."

 _How could it all have gone to hell in just two minutes? Shit_. He would never see John again, he realized, looking into the barrel of the gun. Another realization hit him. _  
I never told John that I love him._  
No time for that now. He put his feelings deep into the back of his mind palace and focused on Mary.

"Hello, Mary. Came to finish your mission?"

Her smile faltered.

"You know about that?"

"Of course." No need to elaborate further, he decided. He would leave her thinking that Moriarty was alive.

"Then I need to hurry finishing this, don't you think?"

He swallowed. He didn't want to die here and now. _Keep talking,_ he pushed himself.

"You will never get away with this. John will find out what you did."

"No, he won't. He's far too stupid to figure this out."

"Don't you _dare_ call him stupid!" He shouted.  
This woman was really hitting his nerves now.

"I will call him whatever I like, he is my future husband after all. When you die _again_ , he has no one left but me. I will save him – again."

"No."

"Enough talking now, Sherlock. Any last words?" Her face looked downright ugly now, her grin full of the hate she had for him.

"No. Not for you."

In his mind he said, "John, I love you." He closed his eyes.

He felt the shot before he heard it. She had used a sound absorber and it wasn't all that loud but he realized she had aimed for his heart. He staggered.

The pain was sharp, hot, intense, unbearable. A gush of warm blood left the bullet hole on his chest. It would be hard to survive that.

 _But I will, for John._

The last thing he heard was Mary running down the stairs.

Then he lost consciousness.

* * *

John's cab finally arrived at Baker Street and he handed the cab driver forty pounds while he was stopping the car. He didn't wait for the change and got out as soon as the car came to a halt.

He realized immediately that his instinct had not failed him. The two agents in front of the flat were dead. Bled out.

The door to the flat was open and he ran up the stairs, carrying his gun.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!"

When he entered the flat, it was silent. Much too silent. His phone rang. He ignored it.

"Sherlock?" He was shocked by the desperation in his own voice.

The living room was empty, the monitors showing his flat and the dead agents in front of the door.

He went into the kitchen. There was a pool of blood next to the kitchen table.

"Oh God!"

He rushed around the table.

For two seconds, John froze. The Deja Vue of that day at Bart's hit him hard. He struggled to keep his balance at the sight of Sherlock's pale face and his body lying there, in a pool of blood.

 _Don't you dare die on me now, Sherlock. Not now._


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N : Many thanks to my friend and beta Christine._

* * *

Chapter 9

John heard the sirens of an ambulance approaching and finally sprung into action and full doctor's mode. He knelt down and pressed his hand to the wound in Sherlock's chest. He cautiously listened for a heartbeat. It was there, but very faint and unstable. Sherlock needed blood and surgery. Now.

His phone rang again. He ignored it. It had to be Mycroft but he couldn't care less now.

He heard the ambulance stopping in front of the flat and soon after, the paramedics came running up the stairs.

John didn't move when they entered the kitchen. If he put his hand away from the wound, he was sure that Sherlock would loose to much blood.

"Please, Sir," they addressed him, "we are taking care of him now. Please move away."

"I'm a doctor and if I take my hand away from the bullet wound, he will most certainly bleed to death. We must bring him to the hospital immediately."

"I understand that, sir," one of the paramedics acceded. And although John had practically ordered him to let him care for Sherlock's wound, the paramedic was not impressed by it.

"But you have to move away now. We cannot properly take care of him if you are in our way. I have a compression bandage here and I will press it to the wound as soon as you let go. We've got him, Sir."

John did not move away or react. Theoretically, he understood the paramedic, but this was Sherlock, for God's sake. He simply didn't _want_ to let go.

"Please, sir, now. We need to get to the hospital."

John's wand was carefully moved away and a new surge of blood poured from the wound.

The compression bandage was applied.

They moved Sherlock on the stretcher. A drip with saline solution was put into Sherlock's veins, John eyeing every move of the paramedic closely.

When Sherlock seemed to be relatively stable, they brought him down the narrow stairs and carefully put him into the ambulance. Sherlock was as pale as a sheet now and was barely breathing. John pushed all thoughts of Sherlock possibly dying away. Last time, after the Fall, he had been unable to do anything but he would do everything he could now to ensure his best friend's survival. His soul mate. There was no way he would not go with him in the Ambulance.

The ambulance rushed through London's streets to St. Mary's hospital, which was the nearest one to Baker Street, despite the irony of its name. Sherlock's heart beat became more and more faint, his pulse became erratic and he clearly had trouble breathing. He needed to be intubated immediately.

"Sherlock, stay with me please. You are not allowed to die on me now. You are not allowed to leave me yet. Please, Sherlock, please."

The paramedic gave him an approving look. "Don't stop talking to him. It might help."

Sherlock didn't react at all but his heart kept on beating. Irregular, but it didn't stop.  
It was enough for John. While the paramedics took care of his friend, John's hand had found its way to Sherlock's face, tenderly stroking his friend's hair.

Finally, the ambulance reached the hospital. The doors flew open and several nurses were waiting for them. The paramedics introduced him as the patient's friend and also a doctor and John never let go of the wound while they got out of the ambulance.

John was allowed to come with Sherlock until they reached the surgery.

"Mr Watson, you can't come with us beyond this point, as you are surely aware, being a doctor yourself. We'll take care of your partner, don't worry."

"He's not my…" John stopped himself.

"Right, I'll wait here and tell the surgeon he needs to give his best. He's Sherlock Holmes, if the name means anything to you."

"It does, and I know that, Doctor Watson," the Doctor confirmed with obvious respect for the man standing in front of him.

Then, they were gone and the door closed.

John exhaled and searched for a place to sit down. His knees were about to give out. Tears were beginning to well behind his eyes and he was not able to stop them, nor did he want to.

Sherlock would most likely die from that wound. If Mary had missed his heart, then only by millimetres. He was sure it had been Mary although he hadn't seen her do it. There was no other possibility. He had been about to marry a woman who hat tried to kill Sherlock.

 _Oh God._

The realization hit him again and he began to hyperventilate. _What have I done?_

"John." It was Mycroft's voice.

"John."

Finally, he looked up to find Mycroft's face, grief stricken.

"Mycroft."

"Have you heard anything from the surgery?"

"No. Not yet. He's only been in there for a couple of minutes."

"What happened?"

"She shot him in the heart. That happened! How could you have only two people in front of the house. Were they even real agents? How could she have killed them so easily? How, Mycroft?"

"I'm sorry, John."

"You're sorry?" He was shouting now. "That's not enough, Mycroft. If your brother dies in there, I …" he broke off and buried his head in his hands, sobbing heavily. The anger had turned into despair and he knew it hadn't been Mycroft's fault.

"I truly am sorry, John," Mycroft said quietly next to him. "And I really don't want to lose my little brother, too."

"I know Mycroft, I'm sorry, too. Thank you for sending the ambulance so fast. That has saved his life. So far," he added sadly.

Mycroft nodded but didn't say anything for a while.

Both men were thinking about the man they both loved most in their life, each one in their very own way. No, there was no way he could die now.

"We completely lost trace of Mary after she escaped through the kitchen window in your flat. We still are not sure if she discovered the cameras or was just being cautious. Our agents only saw her again through the camera in front of 221B, shortly before she attacked the agents on watch. She was heavily disguised, and though I haven't seen the footage yet, my agents tell me she was not easily recognizable. The way she killed my two agents leaves the team thinking that she is a professional killer. I truly am sorry, John, that I have to tell you this."

Mycroft stopped, unsure how to continue. John cleared his throat and dried the tears in his eyes with a handkerchief.

"How could I not have seen this? How was I able to fall in love with her? The last few days with her were horrible and I don't know anymore what I ever saw in her. If Sherlock dies, I will kill her myself, Mycroft."

"My agents are already looking for her everywhere. Every airport, every train station, every street in Greater London is being monitored."

"But if she is able to disguise herself once, she can do it twice. I'm not sure you will find her."

"You may be right, John, but I am going to move heaven and earth to find that woman. She is going to pay for this."

* * *

Sherlock was dreaming. He was dreaming about Cornwall. John and him on that bench, overlooking the sea.

"You were not supposed to die before me, Sherlock," he could hear John's voice.

Strangely, when he turned his head to look at John, his face was blurred and he couldn't really see John. His face was like a faint image.

"I don't intend to," he replied.

"Then don't give into the pain, don't give up. For me, Sherlock."

Pain? What was John talking about? Oh, _pain_. He cried out loud. How could he not have felt the pain a moment ago? What had happened to his chest? This felt like someone had ripped a hole into his chest.

Oh right, he remembered, someone did. Mary.

"Don't you dare die on me now, Sherlock." John's voice. Again.

"You are simply not allowed to." John's voice always kept him calm. "Stay with me, stay with me, Sherlock."

Concentrating on John's voice, his mind drifted into unconsciousness again.

* * *

Three hours later, a surgeon finally emerged from the operating theatre.

Mycroft and John simultaneously got onto their feet, looking into the surgeon's face, trying to find information in it before the man had even opened his mouth to speak.

"Mr. Holmes, Dr Watson. Mr. Holmes is now stable although we almost lost him twice during surgery, but it seems his time has not come yet. If he manages the night, he will make it. It surely was a very close thing."

John's knees finally gave out and he fell back onto the plastic chair he had spent the last three hours in.

"When can we see him?" Mycroft asked the surgeon.

"He currently is being brought into the ICU and I can only allow one of you to see him for no more than five minutes. If he is conscious tomorrow, he can be moved into a patient room where you can see him during visiting hours."

John finally found his voice.

"Will there be any lasting damage from the shot? Did the bullet hit his heart?"

"No, and no. But the shot missed the heart by several millimetres only. The bullet went right through his body and punctured his lungs, missing the spine only by millimetres, too, when it exited his body. He was very lucky, it was surely meant to be a deadly shot."

"Thank you, Doctor. You tell him I will see him tomorrow, Mycroft. And call me if anything changes," he told the surgeon, "please."

The doctor nodded in confirmation, but before he could say anything, Mycroft spoke up, sounding more emotional than John had ever heard him.

"John, you are the most important person to him. You should go and see him, John. He hardly wants to see me when he's doing fine. I imagine this feeling is even stronger when he's not. Go ahead, John. I will take care about the security and speak to the police."

"Thank you, Mycroft." He hadn't seen this coming but the fact that Mycroft believed he was more important to Sherlock than Mycroft himself filled him with both joy and relief, but also with sympathy for Mycroft, who had just shown him how much he loved Sherlock alone by this gesture.

"I will come and get you in about an hour, Doctor Watson. Go and get something to drink or eat.

"Thank you, Doctor," John replied, still thinking about Mycroft.

An hour and a half later, the doctor finally returned and took John into the intensive care unit.

"How is he now, doctor?"

"He is still stable and his hearts keeps on beating soundly. The blood pressure is almost back to normal. He is about to wake up any minute now, but please don't stay longer than five minutes if he does. He still needs a lot of rest."

"I know." John had thoroughly washed his hands and put on a mask and finally entered the ICU. Sherlock's room was the last one at the end of the corridor.

Quietly, he opened the door.

Several monitors were standing behind Sherlock, showing the frequency of his heartbeat, oxygen saturation and so on. After a quick look, John decided the data looked reassuring enough and sat down in a chair beside Sherlock's bed. They had removed the intubation and his face looked ashen, his skin like wax. A thick bandage was covering his chest.

His face looked almost peaceful.

John grabbed his friend's hand, suddenly needing a physical reassurance that Sherlock really was not dead. He let his hand move up to Sherlock's wrist, searching for a pulse. There it was, steady and stable.

Unable to let go of the hand, he carefully sat down next to Sherlock on the bed.

His friend's hand was warm and soft and it felt so natural just to hold it.

"Sherlock, I don't know if you can hear me, but I need you to know how sorry I am about everything. I dated a woman that intends to kill you. You, my best friend, the only real friend I ever had. And I only just got you back… and – that week in Cornwall was so wonderful and now … everything's gone to hell. If I ever find Mary, I will kill her myself – that's a promise. I am so damn angry at myself that I let her into my life and let her get to you…."

John was sobbing again. He didn't care.

"And I am not even sure if you still want me to move in with you again, after all that happened, I would understand if you wouldn't want me there at Baker Street… God what a mess I've made…"

Someone was squeezing his hand. Through his tears he looked up and could now see that Sherlock's eyes had opened.

"Sherlock!"

"Course I do…" Sherlock said in a rough, deep and very quiet voice.

"Course you do what?"

"Want you to move in again."

John couldn't help but smile and shedding more tears at the same time.

"Sherlock, thank God. How do you feel?"

"Cold, with my chest exposed."

John carefully pulled up the blanket and covered Sherlock's chest with it.

"Better?" Sherlock gave him a grateful look.

"Need anything else?"

"No. Just you."

John's heart warmed at his words but he also remembered the doctor's words.

"I can't stay. The doctor said you need your rest and he's right. I'll come back tomorrow, together with Mycroft. He is very worried about you, I've never seen him looking so… remorseful."

Sherlock squeezed his hand again.

"Thank you for saving me," he said, sounding exhausted.

"How the hell do you know that?"

But Sherlock had fallen asleep again, his hand gone limp in John's.

Quietly, John retreated from Sherlock's room, feeling like a heavy weight had been lifted from his very own chest.

After he left the hospital, he called Mycroft and told him that Sherlock had woken up and had even talked to him a bit.

In the meantime, Mycroft had involved Lestrade and had him sent over two guards for the hospital and preparing everything for the move of his brother into a normal patient room the next day if Sherlock made it through the night without any major relapses. Two of Mycroft's agent would be joining the two policemen.

There was no news about Mary's whereabouts. She had disappeared and had last been seen on the CCTV on the corner of Baker Street, but nowhere after that.

"How can that be?" John inquired. "She has to be somewhere."

"John, it's been hours. It's quite likely she already left London, or the country."

"Shit."

"My thoughts exactly. Do you have any idea where she could have gone? Has she ever said anything about a place or a country she always wanted to visit?"

John thought about it, but also found it unlikely that Mary would have shared the truth about this. She had once suggested a holiday in Italy and France, but that had been it.

"No, she hasn't. Just something about France and Italy when were talking about a holiday."

He thought back to the conversation and it almost made his stomach turn. He had thought about taking her there for the honeymoon.

"Thanks, John. Anything else I can do for you?"

Mycroft had never been that kind to him before, but perhaps it was only his remorse speaking.

"Is it safe for me to return to the apartment? I mean Mary's and mine?"

"You want to fetch your things, I suppose."

"Yes. I am going to move back to Baker Street tonight. Oh God, Mrs Hudson, did someone tell her what happened?"

"Yes, Lestrade did. She's alright. Even your kitchen floor has been cleaned. I am going to send over someone to your old flat and help you move your things. The place has been thoroughly searched so it might be a bit of a mess."

"Right, thank you, Mycroft. I mean it."

"You're welcome, John."

Being back alone in Baker Street was not the way John had imagined his return. Still, now with a fire blazing in the fireplace, a cup of tea in his hands, and the takeaway he had just finished, the place felt more like home than anything else had ever done.

It was almost midnight and it had taken him some time to fetch all things from his old flat (he refrained from thinking "their" flat) and put everything back in place back home, here at Baker Street. He still was not very keen on going up the stairs, lying alone in his old bed, and Sherlock, hopefully still alright, lying in his hospital bed, equally alone.

During their holiday, it had felt natural to sleep in Sherlock's bed and John had been turning around the thought in his head for about an hour now. Would it be okay for Sherlock if he slept in his bed? Just tonight? For his own reassurance?

 _To hell with it,_ he decided and finally stood up, fetched his pyjamas from upstairs and headed for Sherlock's bedroom.

* * *

Mary arrived safely in Rome in the late morning hours. She had managed to get to St. Pancras Station on foot undetected and had taken the Eurostar train to Paris. After staying in a cheap hotel for the night, she had booked a flight to Rome using one of her false names and passports.

It had almost been too easy, escaping the great Mycroft Holmes and his agents.

She truly hoped she had managed to kill Sherlock but the English newspapers said nothing about his survival or his death. If she had failed again, Moriarty would be pissed. And she would have to go back and finish her job.

The disguise she had chosen for her stay in Rome was dark brown hair (currently a wig, but she would dye it later), sunglasses and very elegant, business like clothes. Something John or all the people now searching for her had never seen her in.

She was both relieved and upset that Moriarty had not contacted her yet. Relieved, because she had failed him until yesterday, upset, because she did not seem important enough to be contacted after his return from the dead. But now, it was time to find a place to stay and settle in.

* * *

John woke up, feeling refreshed. He opened his eyes and for a moment, he was confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. Sherlock's elegant bedroom and the heaven-like mattress still felt a bit unreal.

A second later, he checked his phone but the hospital hadn't called so Sherlock had to be alright. It was almost nine a.m. and he quickly got out of the bed and took a shower. Having the shower right next to the bedroom really had its benefits.

Letting the hot water running down his back, John realized that he hadn't had a bad dream during the night. When he had gone to bed, he had been sure he would be woken up in the middle of the night by a dream suggesting Sherlock's death or something. But he had slept dreamless and felt rested. _Perhaps I should just stay in Sherlock's bed until he gets back._

An hour later, he entered the hospital. At the reception desk he was told that Sherlock had been moved to a private patient room.

In front of the room, he found Lestrade instructing two policemen about the security for the room.

"Morning, Greg," John greeted him.

"John, how are you?"

"I'm fine, now that he's made it through the night."

"Listen, guys, this is Dr Watson, Mr Holmes' best friend and also a former soldier. He has full admission to Mr. Holmes' room and is also quite able to defend himself. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Only Mr Holmes, Dr Watson here, Mrs Hudson, Miss Hooper and me have the same rights, all other people have to be checked and confirmed first, understood?

"Yes, Sir."

"Alright. Want to go right in, John?"

"Yes. How is he?"

"Still very weak and white in the face, but otherwise, he's still Sherlock."

"I know what you mean. Thanks, Greg."

"Go on in then, he will be happy to see you."

Quietly, John opened the door to Sherlock's patient room. The lights were switched off and dim winter light flooded through the window, making the room look like several shades of grey. Sherlock's eyes were closed and John wasn't able to tell if his friend was asleep or not. He grabbed the chair and moved it silently to Sherlock's bedside and sat down.

His friend looked little better than yesterday in the ICU, but the monitors showed a regular, steady heartbeat. His blood pressure was alright as well and apart from the extra oxygen and the drip in his vein, Sherlock looked quite good for someone who had nearly been shot in the heart.

Just thinking about the fact again that he had almost lost Sherlock yesterday again, made John's heart ache. Tears of both regret that he had met Mary and relief that Sherlock was going to survive streamed down his face.

 _God, I'm such a baby, crying all the time._ But the truth was, if Sherlock had died from Mary's shot, he would have died of heartbreak. After the fall, it had taken him months only to manage to leave the house again, but this, his friend and – yes – soul mate- taken out by his own girlfriend. No.

After having Sherlock back in his life, John had finally realized that his happiness depended on Sherlock's presence in his life. He knew that this wasn't the healthiest of all things, but if he was honest with himself – he needed Sherlock in his life. Every hour, every day, every fucking minute.

There would be no more dates with women, only Sherlock and him. It was totally enough – was it?

John tenderly took Sherlock's right hand and stroked it carefully.

"I promise you, Sherlock, I am never going to leave again," he said quietly.

"Good."

"You're awake?"

"Obviously." His voice was still very scratchy, but it sounded like heaven to John.

"How are you?" John blew his nose and dried his tears away awkwardly. "Sorry about being a crying mess, by the way."

"It's alright, John."

"So how are you?"  
"The pain is bearable and it seems my heart is still beating. And you are here, so I think I'm okay," he said, now looking directly into John's eyes.

Sherlock's eyes were smiling and his expression was open. _Got to be the painkillers. Usually he's not so emotional. God, I'm still holding his hand._ He pulled away.

Sherlock looked disappointed or did he just imagine that?

"How long do you have to stay here? Did the doctor tell you anything?"

"At least two weeks, three is more likely. Then I'll have to stay home for another two or three weeks and do practically nothing until it's all healed. I am not allowed to move at all."

"I'll look after you. If you want that, that is."

"Of course. Why wouldn't I? I'm sure I couldn't stop you anyway."

"True," John said with a smile.

After a short silence, Sherlock asked, "So how did you sleep in my bed?"

John's mouth fell open and once again wondered how Sherlock could have guessed that. Perhaps he really just had guessed. He decided to tell the truth, but he couldn't help turning beetle-red.

"Very good. I'm not going to sleep in …"

"John." Sherlock interrupted him. "It's alright. Stay there if you like or if you feel the need to. I'm perfectly alright with it."

"Okay, thanks."

John felt embarrassed but was also happy that he didn't need to return to his own bed until Sherlock returned.

"It's good to be home again," he said as an afterthought.

"And I can't wait to be home again, too."

* * *

"So what are we going to do about Mary?" Sherlock asked John.

"Mycroft is taking care of the search for her. He involved Interpol. He surely informed you about this morning."

"Of course he did, but I also made it quite clear that _we_ are going to take care of her once he has found her."

" _I_ am going to take care of her, Sherlock. She is my problem and I am going to finish this business with her. You are supposed to be taking care of yourself, Sherlock. She almost killed you. It will take a while until you are up and running again."

Sherlock sighed. Had John forgotten everything they had talked about in Cornwall. That they were in this together, no matter what? Did he really have to repeat for him? It seemed so.

"John," he began, already feeling exhausted again by the short conversation they were having. It would really be a while until he was back to his old self.

"John, do you remember at all what we talked about in Cornwall? No more taking action alone. We are in this together! Why would you want to do this alone? It will take Mycroft a couple of weeks before he locates her and I will be alright then. You are not going to act alone, understood? I am not going to let her trying to shoot you, too."

"But she…," John started but was harshly interrupted by Sherlock.

"No, John. I am not going to lose you to her _again_. Discussion closed."

Sherlock was becoming acutely aware that he was speaking completely unfiltered with John. The meds were taking away all emotional barriers and he could say nothing except the complete truth. And if John asked him now why he was acting like he did, he would have admitted that he loved him. But John didn't ask and stayed silent. Either he was angry or he was thinking about his words. Right now, Sherlock would have preferred that John was angry and that he hadn't noticed his slip of the tongue.

He closed his eyes and drifted away again for a while, exhaustion taking its toll.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N : Many thanks to my beta and friend Christine._

 _Also thanks to you, lovely Guest reviewer, for giving me feedback on my story. Please continue to do so - I appreciate it very much._

 _Of course, I am always open to other/more reviews as well :-)_

* * *

Chapter 10

Sherlock seemed to have fallen asleep again. His breathing was even and his eyes were not moving. His heart beat was also slowing down again. The conversation and the emotional upheaval must have exhausted him.

Had he really just heard Sherlock saying that he would not lose him to Mary _again_? How the _hell_ had he meant that?

John stood up and walked over to the window. Rain was splashing against the windows, London was fading away into grey fog and rain and he thought back to everything Sherlock had said since he had woken up yesterday.

His friend had been more open since he had returned "from death" and was talking more about their friendship and his emotions than he ever had before. However, the last two days seemed to have taken his openness on a whole new different level.

John still suspected the painkillers behind Sherlock's unusual emotionality. Still, he hadn't felt embarrassed by Sherlock's statements and they had rather warmed his heart.

Sherlock was back and he definitely wanted John to be in his life one hundred per cent. But this last sentence before Sherlock had fallen asleep again hung back in John's mind.

Sherlock had thought he had lost him to Mary right after his return and that there was supposedly no space left for him in John's new life. John knew he had made it quite clear after he had truly forgiven him that he wanted Sherlock back in his life.

Was there any chance that Sherlock thought of losing John in a whole different way than John had ever thought possible? He finally allowed his mind to follow down the trail of thought he had never dared to think about before.

John knew precisely that Sherlock was much more emotional than he led other people to believe. He also was aware that Sherlock showed no interest in women at all and was most likely gay.  
But was Sherlock also able to fall in love with someone? And could that someone be him? If he considered all those sentences he heard in the last twenty-four hours from a romantic perspective, they were only that: romantic and heart-warming.

 _And what about myself?_ He couldn't help but think.

After already having decided that he was going to stay with Sherlock permanently, would they ever talk about this? _Can I even imagine kissing him and living with him like a couple?_

And then: _Am I really considering this? Do I feel for him like that?_

He had to leave the hospital and think. Despite the rain, he decided to go for a walk. It was time to think about this properly.

London's streets were somewhat deserted in that abhorrent weather. He decided to walk back to Baker Street. Twenty minutes in this weather certainly wouldn't kill him.

John wasn't oblivious to the fact that he had always denied he was gay or bisexual. He still was quite sure he was not. But Sherlock had been the most special and important person in his life from the day they had met and no one, not even Mary until recently, had ever become more important to him than Sherlock had.

Yesterday, when Sherlock had been brought into the hospital, John had suddenly realized that Sherlock truly was his soul mate. That wonderful week in Cornwall had confirmed it. The days after their holiday had left him no time and space for analysing their week together thoroughly, but now John was sure that there would never ever be someone beside Sherlock. He would never marry because there was simply no space left in his mind nor his life for someone else.

They had slept in a bed together and it had felt natural. Comforting each other after bad dreams or bad days felt natural. Hell, they had almost lived like a couple anyway during that week. They had even held hands in that pub. And that had felt natural, too.

Sherlock was only back in his life for three weeks now, but John had never been so sure about anything else in his life:

He truly loved Sherlock and he only now realized he loved him in every single way possible. He had never loved any other man before, but also he had not yet met anyone like Sherlock. Perhaps he had been the one he had been waiting for?

He had never had something against being gay or gay people in general, he just hadn't considered that "label" for himself yet. Could one become gay for only one other person of the same sex?

In the end he decided it didn't really matter.

He had almost reached Baker Street and decided to do some food shopping on the way home. They were out of tea and groceries.

After having finished the shopping, John finally closed the front door of Baker Street behind him and couldn't help grinning. He was in love with Sherlock.

How come he had never, ever realized that before? Had those feelings always been lingering under the surface and he had denied himself thinking about it? Had almost losing Sherlock _again_ unleashed them? Or had this week in Cornwall caused all that? The intimacy, the new vulnerability and openness Sherlock had shown?

He didn't know and frankly, he didn't care. With a new spring in his step, he ran up the stairs.

* * *

Mary had searched through every single English newspaper website she knew, she had also googled news about Sherlock Holmes for two days now.

There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. If she called one of her London contacts now, they would know she was behind Sherlock's death, should it become public knowledge. She had to wait for Moriarty to contact her first. Where the hell was he hiding? The TV broadcast was now more than five days ago and usually he wasn't being slow nor patient.

Did he plan anything major for England again or was he just showing off with this short broadcast?

She also couldn't help thinking about John. He must have realized by now that she was in some way connected to Sherlock being shot. He hadn't contacted her since nor had she contacted him. She actually missed him.

If Sherlock had stayed away, they really could have become happy. But after that holiday she had suggested for the both of them, John had seemed distant and distracted, even during her feigned illness. Whatever had happened during that week, it had changed John.

Mary loved the apartment she had rented in Rome. She had bought some new clothes and had dyed her hair. She wouldn't be easy to recognize if she was found. If Sherlock had survived the shot, which she still highly doubted, he would come and find her, that she was sure about. But by then, she would be familiar enough with Rome to outwit him.

She thought about calling London's hospital to find out about Sherlock's life or death and came to the conclusion that that was the only way to get confirmation about her success.

From Baker Street, there weren't too many options if one had to get to the hospital fast after being shot in the heart.

* * *

Sherlock woke up again in the late afternoon to find his parents sitting by his bedside. His eyes also searched the room for John but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Mom, Dad," he rasped.

"Water, please," he tried again with a slightly clearer voice.

"Of course, son," his father said and poured some fresh water into the plastic cup.

Sherlock reached for the cup and took some small sips.

"How are you feeling, Sherlock?" His mum inquired, her face showing sorrow and worry.

"I've been better, but it will be alright. Where's John? Did you meet him?"

"No, we haven't seen anyone except Mycroft and that two cops outside. Sherlock, this job of yours will kill you one day, why don't you just stop this detective business?"

Sherlock sighed.

"Because it's what I do, mother. And I enjoy it. It's not the job that will kill me, it'll be John's girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend."

Both of his parents' mouths fell open.

Perhaps that had not been the best way to tell them what had happened, it was still the medication speaking out of him. Unfiltered.

"Sorry, but it's true," he added remorsefully. "Didn't Mycroft tell you that?"

"Not in all detail. And John saved your life?" His mom asked.

"Yes, but it's a long story. Mycroft can tell it. But basically, John is no longer with her and he saved me. He's also moved back into Baker Street."

"Good," his dad acknowledged to Sherlock's surprise, which must have shown on his face.

"Well, you are better when he's around. The last two years alone didn't do you any good, and neither did the years before you met him. How come we've never met him?"

Sherlock didn't really know how to answer that. Before he had left, he didn't want John to know too much about his childhood and his past. Mycroft's meddling in their lives had been enough.

But now he found he did want John to meet his parents. Where was he anyway? He guessed he must have left when he had fallen asleep again, but that had been hours ago.

"I'll call him now, if you really want to meet him. Give me my phone, Dad, please."

In that very moment, the door opened and John stepped in.

He instantly saw the visitors and stopped.

"Oh. Shall I come back later?" Sherlock instantly saw that John felt like an intruder. But John was just as important – if not more important – than his family. He certainly wasn't intruding.

"No, come on in," Sherlock said, still analysing John's expression. God, he was tired and wanted to go to sleep again. The pain in his chest was lingering and aggravating. He knew it would be a long time until he was completely healed and he had been shot only yesterday. But still, lying in this bed, not being able to move, was dreadful.

Something in John's eyes had changed since this morning, he concluded his musings. He had to think about this later.

"John, please meet my parents. Mom, Dad, this is John."

"Your…parents? Wow, I am very pleased to finally meet you both, Mr and Mrs Holmes."

A large smile on his face, John came over and shook both of his parents' hands.

"Finally we're meeting the famous John. It's very nice to see, Dr Watson, and finally put a face to the name."

John didn't seem to know how to answer that and smiled back warmly at his parents instead.

But he was practically beaming when he finally turned to meet Sherlock's eyes.

"How are you?" He asked, still smiling.

"Tired again, the pain is uncomfortable but the doctor said I am doing okay for the day after having been shot."

"It seems you do."

Still, that odd new smile.

"But I also think it's time for you to rest again. Visits are still very exhausting for you. Would you join me for some coffee in the cafeteria, Mrs and Mr Holmes? I will come back after that, Sherlock, I promise."

Sherlock knew John was right. He needed to rest. But it was good to see his parents and John finally in one room.

"Bring Mom and Dad with you, when you return, will you?"

* * *

John took Sherlock's parents to the Cafeteria and got tea and some cake for all of them. When he returned to their table, he found the couple talking animatedly about something but they stopped immediately when he approached the table.

"Am I interrupting?" John couldn't help asking.

"No, not at all, Dr Watson." Sherlock's mother confirmed but John wasn't convinced.

"Please call me, John." He said, unsure how to proceed after the clear dismissal. He was quite sure they had been talking about him before he returned to the table.

"Thank you, John, but only if you call us William and Violet."

"Thanks. Now, Violet, I presume you have questions about my girlfriend shooting Sherlock?" John asked. He wanted to get over this certain subject as soon as possible. Mycroft had told him outside Sherlock's room that he had conveniently left this point out in his narration.

"To be honest, yes. And we'd also like to know how you happened to be in Baker Street at the exact right time to save our son, John. Frankly, it seems a bit odd," William admitted.

"Do you know the story behind Mary at all?" John asked. If not, this would certainly take longer than a cup of tea.

"Mycroft told us the basics, yes. But he had to leave and we only came to the point when Sherlock was admitted to the hospital. He also left out the detail that it was your ex-girlfriend who shot Sherlock," William explained. John couldn't help but be fascinated by the resemblance of his eyes to Sherlock's. They were exactly the same shade of clear, green-blue-grey than Sherlock's.

But he could think about that later, right now, he had some explaining to do.

"Right. Sherlock called me not long before Mary arrived at Baker Street. He told me that Mycroft's men had lost track on her and that they had no idea where she was. I was at the clinic at that point. But after Sherlock ended the call, I was not able to concentrate on my patients any longer and took a cab to Baker Street. I found him there, lying in a pool of his own blood, unconscious." He paused. "It felt like the Fall all over again," he added quietly. "I felt like I was too late, again."

"But you weren't," Violet interrupted. "You came at the exact right time to save our son. It seems he owes you his life because of your instincts."

"It wasn't exactly instinct, you know," John tried to explain. "I don't really know what it was, but I knew that I needed to be with Sherlock immediately after we had ended that call…. It felt like the worst seconds of my life all over again when I found him…"

"You really love our son, don't you?"

John felt trapped immediately. How did they mean their question? Love him like a friend or a lover? He decided to admit it, however they had meant it.

"Yes, I do. He is the most important person in my life."

"You are the most important person in his life, too, you know," William said quietly. "And we would like it very much it things between you stayed this way. You're good for him, John. When he returned from his two-year _absence_ he was miserable. Of course he didn't admit it but we could see in his eyes how lonely he must have been without you."

"So that's why you weren't at the funeral. You knew," John interrupted, now feeling like the only person who hadn't been privy to the secret.

"Yes, Mycroft informed us on the day of The Fall. We weren't too happy about you not being involved at all, but our sons were quite clear it was their decision and that it had to be this way. And it does seem that you have forgiven him."

"He has explained, yes, but it took me awhile, to be honest. I punched him in the face first," John admitted, not daring to look them in the eyes and eyed his cup of tea instead.

William laughed. "I would have done the same if he hadn't told me."

John was surprised about Sherlock's parents. They seemed warm and amiable and very unlike their sons. He wondered how Mycroft and Sherlock had become the people they were today. Or at least the person they once were, in the case of Sherlock. Lonely and distanced.

Half an hour later, they returned to Sherlock's room. His friend was asleep and his face showed that he was in pain. The morphine drip was not very high but John suspected that Sherlock wouldn't want to risk a new addiction. At least he hoped it.

William and Violet said their goodbyes and promised to come around Baker Street when Sherlock was home again. They lived out in the countryside and only came to London very rarely, however they would return to visit Sherlock the next day before they left the city again.

Sherlock's room was quiet and John sat down at Sherlock's bedside again, quietly holding his hand. It was dark outside now and almost seven in the evening. He had to return home soon but he would stay until one of the nurses threw him out.

The doctor had said earlier that the wound was in the very early healing stages, but so far looked promising. Sherlock would not be allowed to get up or move for at least five more days. Returning home was out of question for at least two weeks.

The doctor had also instructed him not to cause any distress to keep in control of Sherlock's heart rate. It was important to keep the heart beat stable until the internal scar tissue around the heart had healed sufficiently.

John realized immediately that he could not tell Sherlock about his newfound feelings until he was better. It would be very hard to hide this from Sherlock but he would try.

He had needed this long to realize what he felt, he could wait another week or two to speak with Sherlock about it. If he ever dared to, that was. It would be hard enough to keep the secret, but he did not want to risk Sherlock's health for one second.

Sherlock stirred and after a couple of moments, he opened his eyes. They instantly moved to John's.

"Hey," John greeted him softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Still tired," Sherlock rumbled. "And in pain."

"You could increase the morphine a bit, I guess."

"Perhaps tonight. I want to keep my head clear when I'm awake."

"Right. Your parents will return tomorrow before they're going home again."

"I hope they were bearable. Sorry I was so tired earlier."

"Your parents are lovely. I like them. I invited them over to Baker Street once you've settled in again."

"You did?"

"I wonder why you've never invited them before, honestly," John asked.

"I didn't want them to meddle in our lives," Sherlock said quietly.

His parents had seemed nice and he didn't think they would do much meddling.

"You don't believe me," Sherlock added instantly.

"They seem very nice, Sherlock. I didn't have the impression they would want to influence your life," John replied hesitantly.

"Not any more."

* * *

Sherlock wasn't sure how to explain to John why he didn't want his parents to take a huge part in his life again.

Also, John seemed different than in the morning.

When he had woken up, John had pulled his hand away from his and the odd, happy smile that had enlightened his face this morning was gone now.

 _Or did I just imagine that? Bloody morphine._

John was waiting patiently for him to relate about his parents. That's what he loved about John, among many other things, obviously. He didn't push him when there was no need. Unlike his parents when he was young. He decided if he could not tell John, he couldn't tell anyone.

"I am at peace with them nowadays, but when I was young they always pushed me in a direction. They wanted me to become like Mycroft, go into politics, become a lawyer, et cetera. The teachers told them I was highly intelligent, but unsociable, and they put me into a boarding school to become more "sociable." It didn't work, as you can imagine. I never wanted to go into politics or law school. I was interested in chemistry and solving crimes. When I told them, they were very unaccepting. They said I was wasting my potential and did not support me when I went to study chemistry after school. I had no friends there and the students at the boarding school had learnt to keep out of my way. I used them to learn deduction and that was enough for me. There was not one person amongst them I even wanted to make friends with. They were all stupid."

He paused. John didn't interrupt and seemed to digest the information he had just been given. He suspected his friend felt sorry for his childhood.

"Don't feel sorry for me, John. It's alright. When I started as a consulting detective, they weren't happy, but they started to accept that I wanted to live a different life. When they learnt that I was solving murders and crimes and that Mycroft supported me, they eventually came around and accepted it. I decided to forgive them a couple of months before I met you. But I don't want them to be in my life every day, you understand?"

John nodded.

"I rather think they want to be part of your life and they understand you quite well, now. I didn't get the impression they wanted to change you," John said.

"Perhaps. We'll see tomorrow, when I'm hopefully not as tired as today."

He already felt tired again and yawned. Breathing was still very painful.

"You're healing, Sherlock. Close your eyes and sleep. I'll stay until you're asleep and come back tomorrow, alright?"

"Don't you have to work, John?" He realized he had taken over John's life again, with him being in the hospital every day.

"I quit. That's why I was gone earlier. I will look after you when you're allowed to go home, I already spoke with the doctor," John said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You did?" was all that Sherlock could say.

"Well, if you want me to look after you, that is," John replied with slight unease now.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile.

"Thank you, John. I would appreciate it very much."

One week later, Sherlock was nearly going round the bend in his hospital room. He still wasn't allowed to stand up or move much and when the tiredness had become better, he was bored out of his skull.

John's visits were always the highlight of his day but he could understand that his friend could not spend twenty-four-seven in the hospital room with him.

Mrs Hudson had come to visit as well and he realized that she had always been more a mother to him than his real one. When he told her that, she had burst into tears. He didn't quite understand because he had anticipated such a statement wouldn't make her sad.

When she finally stopped crying, she hugged him and told him that she loved him, too.

Perhaps he had said the right thing all along, then.

He still didn't know what to make out of John's behaviour.

He was warm and affectionate as always, but he also was sure that his friend was hiding something from him. Was he rethinking his decision about staying at Baker Street?

Had he heard from Mary and just didn't want to upset him? Had he made plans with Mycroft for Mary behind his back?

As soon as he felt better or was fit enough to go home, he would find out. Life was too short to be left out.

* * *

John found it increasingly difficult to hide the nature of his new found feelings from Sherlock.

He tried to be as friendly as possible without giving himself away. He was still sleeping in Sherlock's bed just to feel more close to him. Sherlock hadn't said anything about it anymore. Perhaps he had forgotten or didn't find it important any longer.

For John though, it was important. He thought about Sherlock's return to Baker street. He needed to go back to sleeping on the couch until Sherlock was better. His old bedroom was currently out of the question as it was too far away from Sherlock's.

He thought about ways to address his feelings to Sherlock. He had no confirmation whatsoever that Sherlock really felt the same way. He just hoped that he did - otherwise things would become _really_ awkward.

There was no significant news on Mary. She had been seen on a CCTV camera in Paris at Gare du Nord, apparently having arrived there with the Eurostar train. She had worn a wig with black hair and a worn jeans and jumper. It hadn't been easy to recognize her, but the software had recognized her facial features quickly. She had not been seen since and they had no idea if she had stayed in Paris or moved on into another city. Or another continent.

John had told Sherlock the news but he hadn't commented much. He suspected that she was still in Europe and if he didn't conduct the search himself, she obviously would not be found. He was getting restless and John could understand him. His wounds were healing and although Sherlock was still in quite a bit of pain, he wanted to get moving again as fast as possible.

Finally, two weeks were over and Sherlock was ready to go home. The doctor was satisfied with Sherlock's progress and released him into John's care exactly fifteen days after he'd been shot by Mary. It was now the middle of February and it was freezing outside. The temperature was below zero and a nasty wind blew through the streets.

Mrs Hudson and John had turned the heating up prior to Sherlock's arrival to make him as comfortable as possible. John only needed a t-shirt now at home instead of the usual warm winter jumper.

He had changed the bedding in the morning and added some more pillows to make Sherlock as comfortable as possible at home. He had bought fresh vegetables, fruit and some chicken to cook for his friend. The hospital food had been abhorrent and Sherlock had rarely eaten something at all.

The cab was waiting in front of the hospital's entrance. It had taken Sherlock almost half an hour to dress. Now he was being wheeled by John to the hospital entrance.

The two police officers had already driven to Baker Street for setting up surveillance there in case Mary chose to come back.

"I can walk from here, John," Sherlock said aggressively when they reached the main exit.

"No, you can't. I will help you into the car and God knows how I'll get you up these stairs at home. Stay put."

He understood that Sherlock didn't want to show weakness in front of others, but moving too much still was quite dangerous for his very recently healed inner injuries.

The taxi ride was quiet and Sherlock watched London flowing by outside the window. Despite the freezing cold outside he opened the window a bit to inhale the fresh air. John didn't comment on it but understood why Sherlock needed the air after two weeks in the hospital.

They reached Baker Street. Mrs Hudson came out of her flat as soon as she heard John turning the key in the lock of the front door.

"Sherlock, you're finally back home. John has prepared everything for you. I'll prepare some tea for you while you settle in. Welcome home, Sherlock."

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson," he said affectionately and John could hear that he truly meant what he said.

John cleared his throat.

"Now, let's get you up the stairs. Lay your arms around my shoulders, one step at the time. Lean on me as much as you need to. I know your muscles must be weak."

"Okay," Sherlock said quietly, as if he dreaded the stairs as much as John did right now.

Sherlock's arm felt warm around him and John's pulse increased rapidly by Sherlock's touch alone.

They reached the first step. Sherlock and John were squeezed into each other taking the first step simultaneously.

The first two steps went okay, then Sherlock broke into a sweat.

"We have all the time in the world, Sherlock. No need to make haste. Do you need a pause?" John asked quietly, trying not to make Sherlock feel worse than he already did.

"After the next step," he breathed quietly.

Fifteen minutes later, they had finally reached the flat.

John almost carried Sherlock right into his bedroom, where Sherlock fell into his bed, dressed in his coat and a warm jumper and jogging pants and trainers.

"Let's get you out of the coat at least, before you go to sleep."

"Too tired…." Sherlock whispered.

"I know." Carefully, John moved Sherlock and removed the coat from his body. His friend fell asleep during the process, so exhausted was he.

Had they brought him home from the hospital too early? John decided to check Sherlock thoroughly when he woke up again.

Three hours and a pot of tea later, John heard Sherlock move in the bed. He had left all doors open in case Sherlock needed something.

He went into the bedroom.

"It is so good to be in my own bed again," Sherlock said as soon John came into the room.

"Feeling better?" John asked.

"Yes, definitely. Thanks for bringing me home today, I could not have waited one day longer. Could we move into the living room, it's only noon after all?"

"Of course, I'll help you up."

When Sherlock was lying comfortably on his couch again and John had brought him the first proper cup of tea he had in ages, Sherlock cleared his throat.

"John. We need to talk."

That didn't sound good. Not at all.

"About what?"

"About what you've been hiding from me since my second day in the hospital."

Shit. So he had noticed. He hadn't expected this to come up for another couple of days.

"Why should I hide anything from you?" he tried lamely.

"Come on, John. I might be drugged but I still can deduce that you're hiding something important from me. Do you want to move out again? Is it something about Mary? Tell me, John. I can't stand this any longer. You've said so yourself: no more secrets. And only days after that you have one."

John sighed. The moment had come. Now or never.

"You're right. I'm hiding something from you."

* * *

 _A/N 2 : And... I guess the next chapter will bring our two favorite people to have "the talk"._

 _I totally made up the names of Sherlock's parents, I could not find their real names on the internet._


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N : So no reviews for the last chapter?_

 _I hope you will like this one... romance ahead... :-)_

 _This is the second to last chapter, only one more to go._

* * *

Chapter 11

" _You're right. I'm hiding something from you."_

John had absolutely no idea how to start this conversation. During the last couple of days, he had decided that he definitely wanted to tell Sherlock about his feelings, should the opportunity arise and should he get the impression that his feelings would not be entirely unwelcome. He had simply decided that if he did not tell Sherlock, he would deduce it anyway or worse – if not – they would simply possibly waste the opportunity to become something more at all. John was quite determined he would not risk that. He knew it was a risk for their friendship, too, but he felt reassured that the had not misinterpreted everything wrong that had happened since Sherlock had returned.

Sherlock – being Sherlock – of course had to ruin his carefully laid out plan how to bring this up at all – and was now asking quite bluntly what John could possibly be hiding from him.

John was aware that it made absolutely no sense to lie and tell him it was all about Mary or Mycroft or anything else.

 _This is it. And it's now or never._ He cleared his throat.

"You really want to know what this is about?" He inquired, to give Sherlock one last chance to stop this.

Sherlock nodded firmly. "Yes. Whatever it is, John. Please tell me."

John cleared his throat and steered himself mentally for the biggest confession he was probably ever going to make in his life.

"When you came back from _being dead_ two months ago, I didn't think I could be any happier than I was then, after I'd gotten over my first shock. I think one of my happiest memories actually is sitting with you at Angelo's again, having dinner with you just like on our first evening together."

He paused. Sherlock was staring at him in total confusion. Certainly, the conversation wasn't going into the direction he had anticipated. John secretly wondered what Sherlock had thought this was all about. He decided to continue. _Might as well get it over with…._

"I was in a relationship with what I then thought was a nice woman and you, too, had returned into my life. It couldn't get any better at that point. Then Mary suggested this holiday and I found myself with you in a quiet hotel in beautiful Cornwall and finally, for what felt like the first time in our life, we had time to talk to each other. Really talk to each other. About nightmares, bad memories, our friendship, us. You found out all these horrid things about Mary and that certainly dampened my spirits, but looking back now, I still think it was the best holiday I ever had. Because of you," he added as an afterthought.

 _Damn, why is it so difficult to talk about my feelings?_ The words actually stuck in his throat after this last minor confession.

Sherlock's expression had changed from confusion into anticipation. He didn't look tired or exhausted anymore, just pale. And excited.

"Continue." His voice was very low and quiet. "Please."

"Well, then we came back and had to take care of Mary. What I hadn't anticipated when I went to back to our flat, was how much I would miss you. I could have easily spent a couple of more months with you in Cornwall without missing anything. Of course, you'd have crawled up the walls with boredom during the second week but the point I want to make is: I am most certainly not going to move out again. I physically couldn't."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply something but John held up his hand to stop him.

"I am not finished yet and you wanted to hear the complete truth. Let me tell you in my own time, okay?"

His friend nodded.

"Anyway. While we were in Cornwall, I realized another thing after I had come to terms with the fact that my relationship with Mary was over. I realized that I only needed you to be happy. No one else and nothing more.

Then we came back and I dreaded lying in bed next to Mary. All I could think about was how natural and good it had felt lying next to you in that bed in Cornwall."

He paused again, carefully studying Sherlock's expression. He was staring at the ceiling, his eyes unmoving, his expression wearing a slight smile. John wasn't sure if it was a happy smile or if Sherlock was somewhere else entirely.

* * *

Sherlock could not help but remembering fondly the first time he had woken up next to John. He felt a smile spreading on his face. It had felt so good to wake up next to someone. Someone he trusted with his life. Someone he loved, as he now knew. He still had absolutely no idea what John was about to tell him but he certainly had never heard his friend sound so … unsure of himself. Usually, John's entire demeanour was one of confidence and self-assurance. John seemed… emotional, insecure. What the hell was he still hiding from him?

He suddenly realized that John had stopped speaking.

"John?" He inquired.

"Are you still listening?" His friend asked. Was he being serious? He had never listened to anything more closely in his life.

"Of course I am."

"Good. Then I shall continue."

Their eyes met and Sherlock was once again unsure how to read John. What was going on in his friend's head?

* * *

John couldn't tear his eyes away from Sherlock's gaze. He wasn't smiling anymore and was now eyeing him curiously again. Procrastinating didn't help, he needed to get on with it. But he kept his eyes locked with Sherlock's.

"On the day Mary shot you, I was restless at the clinic. I only listened half-heartedly to my patients and I was short of calling you in-between every single patient. Then, when you finally called, I knew that something bad was going to happen. The dread I was feeling was almost unbearable. The moment we ended the call I got into a taxi to Baker Street. I am going to regret until the end of my life that I was too late."

"But you weren't…," Sherlock interrupted him.

"I was. Too. Late. If I had not gone to work or had left earlier I could have protected you. I could have… kept her from shooting you. Now you have that awful wound and it will take ages to heal. I am so sorry, Sherlock."

He felt tears stinging in his eyes. _God, what must he think of me now?_

"But…"

"No, Sherlock. Please let me finish this. I know that Mycroft's people were there and should have protected you. But _I_ am your best friend and I think of it as my duty and … honour to protect you."

 _Damn tears keep rolling down my face._ Sherlock was now looking at him with an expression of wondrousness. _Perhaps he's thinking I've gone round the bend. Keep talking,_ he reminded himself.

"When I found you, lying there in your own blood, it felt like St. Bart's all over again. For a moment, I was paralyzed. But you survived. Again. Thank God. And then you woke up in the hospital."

He drew a deep breath.

"You woke up and you were different. I think it was the medication but you were so… open with me. You certainly were more open when we were in Cornwall than you ever were before St. Bart's, but at the hospital you were speaking … without filters. You were emotional and honest and you've said some things that made me … think. God, this is much harder than I thought." He didn't dare looking at Sherlock at the moment so he stared at the wall.

"You said that you would not lose me to Mary _again_ and I still don't know how exactly you meant that. But it made me think, Sherlock. About me. About us.

If, by any chance, that you had at one point lost me to Mary in any other sense than as your best friend, then I am terribly sorry that it took me this long to realize what you meant."

John was aware he was rambling now. He needed to finish this.

"I've been suspecting for a long time that you have no interest in women or relationships at all and I've honestly never given all this much thought at all. We were friends and everything was perfect as it was. Then you _died_ , and I felt like someone had ripped a

hole through me. I met Mary and I felt better, but that feeling of loss never went away.

You, Sherlock, are my soul mate. I am sure you don't believe in any of this soul mate nonsense but I do know you're mine. My soul mate. I only feel like half a person when you're not around.

After you've said that thing about losing me to Mary again, I walked through the streets, thinking about us. I am aware I always say I am not gay, and I still believe that, but as a matter of fact I realized I still am in love with you. I love you, Sherlock. You are not only my soul mate, you are the love of my life. I've never loved any other man and I think I never will, but somehow I fell in love with you along the way and I am sorry it took me so long to realize it.

And If you don't feel the same way it will be awkward as hell for quite a while for us, but I am here to stay Sherlock. Under any condition. That's what I was hiding from you, the true nature of my feelings."

He closed his eyes, unwilling to look at Sherlock and search for his reaction. He had said it and now it was Sherlock's turn to say something.

Anything.

There was nothing but silence in the room.

"Look at me, John."

Sherlock's voice sounded…strange.

"Please, John."

Ever so slowly, John opened his eyes. His eyes found Sherlock's immediately. His friend now also had tears in his eyes.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?"

He snivelled and it was a sound John had never heard from Sherlock before.

"Sherlock?"

"John, I...", he started, but no more words came. His friend's eyes were now closed.

 _Oh God, I've ruined it_ , John thought. _I've ruined our friendship. He doesn't know what to say._

* * *

Sherlock thought hard about what to say to John's confession. He certainly wasn't used to tears welling up in his eyes and all this emotion could not be good for his freshly healed heart. But John had just said out loud that he loved him back, hadn't he?

It was really hard to believe that this was actually happening. _John loves me. And I love him._

His brain was still processing everything that John had just told him. His friend had picked up on the things that Sherlock had never meant to say out loud and had realized himself only lately. That he was in love with John and that he meant the world to him, too.

How could they have both not seen this before? Sherlock thought that he was the most observant man in England but still he hadn't seen that there had been "something" between them from the start.

Perhaps they had both needed their time to come to their own realizations and this was the right time for them. _How should I know?_

Sherlock was aware that he would most likely be the most difficult person to be in a relationship with and if he had understood John between the lines correctly, that was what his friend wanted. He was at a loss how to be in love with someone, how to show another person that he actually cared for him. Such things as dates had never been a part of his life and he and John had had dinner a lot of times together, what exactly should be different now…?

Suddenly he realized that John was silent, too silent. Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

John had his face buried in his hands, silently crying the way his chest was heaving.

 _Perhaps I should have said that I love him, too?_ He quickly realized.

With effort and the pain flaring up in his scar again, he sat up.

"John?"

No reaction.

"John, please listen to me."

Slowly, John moved his hands away from his eyes but still avoided eye contact. His eyes were red and swollen and Sherlock had never ever seen him looking so sad, except on that day at the cemetery.

 _How long has he been crying? Damnit._

"John, I am sorry about not saying anything. I believe I am in some kind of shock state. How long have I not said anything?" He asked, already dreading John's answer.

"'Bout ten minutes or so." John's voice was very small and defensive.

"Would you mind coming over here and sitting next to me?" He carefully asked.

"Why should I do that?"

 _Was he being difficult on purpose now? I still don't understand a thing about love._

"Please, John."

Finally, John joined him on the couch, but chose to sit in the corner as far away as he could from Sherlock.

Sherlock slowly moved towards him and finally grabbed his friend's hands.

"John. I seem to be in a state of shock because…" _God, this is really not as easy as I imagined it to be_ … "I never even dared to hope that you could love me back."

John's eyes instantly searched for his, his hands tightening in Sherlock's.

"…Love you back?"

Sherlock had to smile about the unbelieving look in John's face.

"Love me back, indeed. To make this perfectly clear for you, John: I love you, too. At least I think I do as my experience in being in love is next to null. I do hope that is enough for you."

"You love me, too?" John asked. _Does he still not understand?_ He nodded and realized he was smiling stupidly.

"Yes, I do."

"Sherlock,…." Now it seemed that John was lost for words. Were love confessions always this difficult? Watching other people to this had seemed certainly easier… and soppier.

"Am I allowed to kiss you?"

Sherlock was so lost in his thoughts that he had totally forgotten about the physical part of a relationship.

Of course John wanted to kiss him and he realized he wanted to kiss John as well.

He nodded.

John was moving in slow-motion towards him. Sherlock closed his eyes and then smelled John's aftershave and felt his breath warm on his face.

"Sherlock." John was whispering now.

Then John's warm and soft lips finally touched his own.

Hesitantly. Tenderly. Cautiously. Lovingly.

Sherlock had not much experience in kissing and absolutely no experience in kissing a person he actually was in love with, so he decided to shut down his brain for once and let himself be guided by his feelings.

Feeling John's lips on his own felt like the world exploding in happiness, coming finally home and feeling truly loved all at once. It was honestly the best thing he had ever felt.

He instantly responded to the kiss without thinking.

John was losing all the tenderness after a couple of moments and passionately moved his mouth against his. Sherlock opened his lips a little and only a second later, John's tongue was in his mouth, finding his own. It felt exquisite and was the most intimate thing he had ever done. Yes, he loved John. Truly and irrevocably.

* * *

After what felt like at least five minutes, John finally drew back to get some air back into his lungs. Apparently, there were also still tears in his eyes.

"Why are you crying _now_ , John?"

"Happiness, I think," he said with a beaming smile.

"I am not an expert in kissing, so this was…okay?" Sherlock asked, feeling insecure about it.

"Shut it, Sherlock. The kiss was perfect. In fact, the most perfect first kiss I ever had. I can't believe this is finally happening, Sherlock."

"Me neither. I can't remember feeling like that, honestly. It really must be happiness."

He could still punch Sherlock for the ten minutes where he hadn't said a word, but in a way he could understand that his friend had needed to process carefully what John had said. John wondered how long Sherlock was already in love with him and decided to ask him, now that everything was in the open.

"How long? I honestly can't say. But I realized I was in love with you on the day she shot me." No need to say _her_ name again.

"But how long I've felt this way without realizing it? Probably since before St. Bart's although I didn't realize it then.  
But on the day you were put in that Bonfire, something happened to me. It was like all emotions I always tried not to have came crashing down upon me. I felt terrified of losing you after I only got you back. I felt jealous about Mary, I wanted to take care of you. I guess that's why I kissed you on the forehead, too."

"God, Sherlock. All this time…" He couldn't say it out loud. All the wasted time. The years they had lost…

"I know, but would you have been ready to admit that you loved me? That you weren't gay or bi or whatever you decide to call it?"

"I call it _in love with Sherlock_ , nothing more."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really. I can't imagine falling in love with any other man, or even being interested in one. Like I said: it's only you."

They kissed again. It was inevitable, really. The tea remained untouched and was cold now but they couldn't care less.

Sherlock's stomach rumbled.

"You hungry?"

"Yes, but not for food."

"Sherlock, we need to take it slow. You're still recovering."

"I know, but I don't want to."

"Nothing more than kisses for a while, Sherlock."

"Shame."

How had they gotten to the subject of sex this fast?

"Honestly, Sherlock. The doctor told me you need to wait with physical exertion at least for another two weeks. I will go and cook something now. Pasta or chicken?"  
"Don't change the subject, John. Two weeks? After I've waited my whole life?"

"We will talk about this later, Sherlock. Pasta or chicken?"

"Pasta, please," Sherlock said, the disappointment obvious in his voice.

After they had finished dinner and Sherlock had actually cleared his plate it was time to address the matter of sleeping arrangements. Sherlock's medication was still high and he was beginning to yawn constantly, although his efforts to hide his sleepiness were hilarious, John thought.

John could not remember having a better evening in his life. After their mutual confessions, they had been bantering throughout dinner and it had not been awkward for one minute.

"Sherlock. You're tired, as much as you're trying to hide that from me. I know you're still recovering and as your doctor, as well as your…friend, I'm telling you it's better to lie down now and rest properly."

"John, I really don't want to miss out on anything today. This is very special for me, too."

"I know and I understand, but we have the rest of our lives now, don't we, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's mouth opened for a reply but none came.

 _Perhaps that was a bit too straightforward for a man who has never been in a relationship before,_ John realized. Perhaps he had scared him off, now.

But Sherlock was still able to surprise him.

"Indeed," was all he said with a smile.

Slowly, he stood up and came round the kitchen table to hug John and kiss him again.

"I find that I have a constant urge to kiss you, is that normal?"

John couldn't help but laugh happily.

"Yes, it's perfectly normal. Mind if I join you later in the bedroom?" He asked casually.

"Not at all. I've been looking forward to that for weeks now."

"But… would you have asked me to sleep next to you if _this_ hadn't happened today?"  
"I would have, it's only logic to have my doctor nearby, isn't it?"

After Sherlock had retreated to the bedroom, John opened a bottle of beer and started his laptop.

There was a new email from Mycroft. He had been suspiciously silent during the last couple of days.

 _John,_

 _We have found Mary. She is staying in Rome and it seems that she is there to stay for a while. Do you still want to go after her on your own or shall I let my people take care of it?_

 _Mycroft_

 _P.S. How is my little brother doing at home?_

John didn't need to think long about his reply.

 _Mycroft,_

 _Let me talk this through with Sherlock in the morning. He has already retired for today. Thanks for letting us know._

 _John_

Rome, he thought. A place he could not picture Mary in very good. It was an old and romantic city and he'd been there twice in his twenties.  
It would be nice to go there with Sherlock, but for hunting down Mary? He really needed to decide this with Sherlock in the morning.

As the clock neared nine p.m. John decided he had been without Sherlock long enough and went to bed although he hadn't turned in that early since he had been a child. Just lying next to Sherlock would be the best part of the evening.

He stripped down to boxers and a T-Shirt in the bathroom and quietly opened the door to Sherlock's bedroom.

In the dim light that came in through the window, he could see that Sherlock was asleep on his back, his mouth slightly open and looking totally adorable.

He quietly climbed into the bed next to his _lover_ , turned to face him and fell asleep within minutes, a happy smile on his face.

The next morning, something tickled John in his nose. He recognized he felt warmer than usual and that his left arm was wrapped around another body. Sherlock's body. And his curls were crawling up his nose.

"Are you finally awake, John?" Sherlock asked, his tone not really sharp.

"Good morning to you, too."

Slowly, Sherlock turned around to face John but the pain in his chest stopped him.

"Damnit!"

"Need your medication?" John mumbled, still half asleep.

"Yes, please."

John slowly crawled away from Sherlock's warmth to get the painkillers.

"Wait!" Sherlock's voice held him back.

"What about my good morning kiss?"

"Alright. First things first," John replied with a smile and leaned down to kiss him.

After breakfast and a rather long snogging session, John finally brought up the issue of Mary.

"I don't want to spoil the mood, but your brother emailed me last night."

"What did he want?"

"Mary's in Rome."

"Rome…interesting."

"Why do you think that?"

"She does not fit in that city, but perhaps that's exactly why she chose it. It will not be easy to catch her there."

"That's exactly what Mycroft was asking. He wants to know if we will be going to Rome when you've healed or if he should take care of her himself?"

"What do you want, John?"

"I'm afraid she won't be there any more when you've healed, but I'd rather take care of her myself. I suppose Mycroft will be able to follow her from there. She tried to kill you, Sherlock."

"What exactly do you mean by taking care of her, John? Do you want to kill her?"

"Only if there's no other option and I'm not sure I could do it. We'll see about that. I want to understand why exactly she did it."

"I can tell you that. It was Moriarty's order for her."

"Yeah, maybe, but she knew you. She even liked you. Why not talk with us about it? God, I have been so blind about her…."

Sherlock slowly stood up from his chair in the living room and sat on the side of John's armchair. John looked up into Sherlock's eyes and found him smiling openly at him.

"Thank God you've not been blind about me."

* * *

Mary slowly began to discover Rome. The city was nice and warm enough in February. Of course, this wasn't London or New York, but she could imagine staying here a couple of months before moving on.

She still hadn't heard from Moriarty. Or from John.

It wasn't easy to decide who had disappointed her more. Moriarty for not contacting her or John because she had been sure that he would have called to shout at her for shooting his best friend dead. If he really was dead.

The English Newspapers or Internet pages still said nothing about Sherlock's death, news about Moriarty had also died down almost three weeks after the broadcast.

How the hell had he staged this and then disappeared again completely? Perhaps there was really only one way to find out what had happened. Mary had shied away until now from contacting Irene Adler again.

She knew the woman must now hate her but if anyone could find out if Sherlock and Moriarty were still alive, it was her. So how would she get information out of her?

It was time to make some plans.

* * *

 _Please review, it would really make my day :-)_


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N : I know it's been more than half a year to get that last chapter ready. I am so sorry about keeping you waiting this long, I certainly didn't plan to._  
 _Hopefully, you like the ending anyway. Please review._

 _Many thanks to my beta and friend Christine._

* * *

Chapter 12

John woke up with Sherlock's hair tickling his nose. One of his curls had the audacity to crawl up his left nostril. Slowly, John breathed out and moved away from Sherlock.

They had been sleeping together for two weeks now and John couldn't remember a happier time in his life.

The affection that Sherlock was showing him so openly now still made John think that he was living a dream most of the time. He would never have imagined Sherlock to be so loving and thoughtful as a partner. He was still a bit rude and unpleasant to other people, but never with John.

He couldn't help but smile when he thought about Sherlock complaining that they had not been allowed much more than kissing during the last two weeks since their relationship had begun. Of course, Sherlock had a point: He had taken so long to find love at all and, as it it seemed, even longer for John to realize his own feelings for Sherlock that two weeks now seemed to be an awful long time.

John found himself also eager to physically deepen his relationship with Sherlock. Kissing and being affectionate were nice enough but the tension and passion between them always heated up in no time.

"What makes you smile this morning, John?"

Sherlock had woken up without him noticing.

"You."

"And why is that?"

"Because six weeks ago I have never even thought about sharing a bed with you and now I can't wait to have sex with you," he admitted with a smile.

"I know the feeling, John."

They had a cardiologist's appointment later that day and hopefully he would be releasing Sherlock from his house arrest and lifting the ban on the physical exertion for a bit.

After a long and extensive breakfast, interrupted by lots of kissing, Sherlock finally left the flat together with John for the first time in two weeks.

The doctor found that Sherlock's recovery was slow but steady. John had been able to reduce the painkillers step by step and after two weeks was down to one pill in the morning.

The scar tissue had healed quite nicely and the cardiologist was pleased with Sherlock's cardiogram. However, he was still not able to travel to Rome and that would have to wait at least another two weeks, but short walks and going out were now definitely possible again.

When they left the practice, Sherlock had a gleam in his eyes.

"Be prepared for some physical exertion later tonight, Dr Watson."

"I certainly am, Mr Holmes."

John could already feel the anticipation running through him when Sherlock took his hand as they left the practice.

Once outside in the early spring sun, Sherlock suggested to take a taxi to the London Zoo and walk back through Regent's Park to Baker Street.

John took Sherlock's hand in his while they strolled through the park. Sherlock gave him a surprised look but smiled nonetheless.

"What, Sherlock? Did you think I would want to hide our relationship? For the record: I don't."

And then John kissed him right there in the middle of Regent's Park.

However, by the time they arrived back in the flat later that afternoon, Sherlock was totally exhausted.

John had known that walking all way through Regent's Park would be more than enough exercise for the first day out but Sherlock had seemed to know it better – as always.

The physical exertion Sherlock had promised him in the morning would have to wait.

"Have a lie in, Sherlock. You've overexerted yourself, as expected. Your heart and your body are still not up for this much activity."

"But tonight…,"

"… will have to wait, Sherlock. No worries, I am not going anywhere."

"Tomorrow, we'll go out and have dinner at Angelo's, like a proper date, alright?" Sherlock suggested.

"Great idea. Angelo will only be too happy to see us being together now."

"You know that he actually was the first one to realize that we belong together. We should have listened to him."

"Yes, perhaps. You really are a romantic, Sherlock. And now, go to sleep. I'll join you later."

John opened up a bottle of beer for himself and settled in front of the telly. He started watching a documentary on the BBC but after a while, his mind began to drift away.

He was truly looking forward to their "date" at Angelo's tomorrow and what would most likely follow after that.

In the last two weeks, his thoughts had been mainly occupied by Sherlock. Being in love did that to a person and only now John was able to admit that he had never loved anyone half as much as he loved Sherlock. Of course, he could be a dick and incredibly stubborn, but his heart was in the right place and Sherlock had always been painfully honest with him, especially since his return.

Mary was still a threat to their happiness and now that he had the time to think about it, John wanted to get rid of her as soon as possible.

He decided to make good use of the upcoming weeks for careful planning before Sherlock was finally allowed to travel to Rome with him.

John also couldn't help but think about having sex with Sherlock. Or rather fantasize about it. Having to take cold showers twice a day was really not the nicest thing in the world. Sherlock had reawakened his sex drive that had slowly stolen itself away during his relationship with Mary.

He still wondered why he had never had any true interest in men before. He had found some men attractive, especially during his time with the military, but he had not been giving this a lot of thought as soon as he had left.

Before Sherlock, he had never even kissed a man. But now John couldn't imagine ever kissing somebody else again.

John finished his beer and went to bed with a smile, looking forward to the day ahead of him.

* * *

Mary really enjoyed Rome. The sun and the constant warmth really made a nice difference to England.

Even after several weeks in Rome, she still hadn't seen all the tourist attractions. In the morning, she always made plans for the day but on some days she just ended up sitting in one of Rome's beautiful "caffe's", sipping on her espresso and indulging in way too many cannolis.

She had managed to made a friend in her neighbour Claudia. The 25-year old girl was a student from Sicily and had easily believed the story that Mary had told her about her change of location (unfaithful husband). Sometimes, Claudia accompanied her to Rome's tourist attractions, claiming that she had finally found someone for company.

It was really nice to make a fresh start here. However, she could not stop thinking about Sherlock. And John.

Mary found that she was missing John, even after weeks. His calm and always a little sad presence (before Sherlock's return) had been good for her.

She had seriously thought about contacting Irene but she had not been able to track or find her. She had had a lead to Switzerland but her contact there had not been able to find her.

Still no word from Moriarty, too. The situation slowly got to her, especially the uncertainty about everything.

She still scanned the English newspapers online everyday to find information about Sherlock but there had been nothing. Absolutely nothing.

By now, she was almost sure that he was still alive. The newspapers would have gotten wind about it by now, weeks, even a month after the incident.

She had failed again and the realization hit her hard.

She returned to her little flat late in the afternoon, after having managed to finally visit the Colosseum. It had been truly beautiful and she had already decided on her way back that she would continue with the Roman Forum tomorrow.

Like every afternoon, she immediately scanned the English newspapers after she arrived at home.

Her jaw dropped when she scanned the local London News and gossip section.

Sherlock AND John, holding hands in Regent's Park, very obviously in love and oblivious to the photographer.

How the hell had that happened? And when?

After getting over the first shock, Mary was furious. John had never once made the impression on her that he might be going both ways. Never once.

When had she gotten so insensitive to not realizing this?

 _Or have I practically handed him over to Sherlock when I suggested that blasted holiday in Cornwall?_

The picture was a day old and Sherlock looked peaky and pale in the picture. His injury _must_ have been severe.

John would be even more devastated when Sherlock died now. The man he so obviously was in love with now.

* * *

Finally, the clock neared seven p.m. and eventually it was time to leave for Angelo's. They had made their reservations for seven thirty and the weather was fine enough to walk there. Sherlock had recovered from yesterday's walk in the park by sleeping the exhaustion off until ten this morning.

Sherlock had been quite angry with himself about sleeping through the whole night and John being already out of bed when he had finally woken up.

He put on his purple shirt together with the black suit, knowing that John liked this combination a lot. John had also gone out of his way to look nice for Sherlock. Freshly showered and shaven he put on a new pair of jeans and a dark blue shirt together with a light grey scarf. April was especially cold this year.

They met in the living room to leave for Angelo's five minutes to seven.

Sherlock looking like his usual self again and in that shirt easily took John's breath away.

"You look beautiful," he blurted out.

Sherlock gave him a genuine smile.

"Thanks, you, too, Dr Watson."  
"Let's go before we're getting any ideas," John said, breathing heavily.

"Right." Sherlock agreed without discussing things for once.

Hand in hand, they entered the little Italian restaurant. They hadn't told Angelo before that they were together now and were on a date tonight.

But their friend spotted the new couple immediately, his face spreading into a huge grin.

"Sherlock, John! Welcome!", Angelo greeted them enthusiastically.

Then his sight fell on their joined hands and his grin spread even wider.

"Is this what I think it is?"

"Yes, and I think you were very observant the first time we were here. We should have listened to you in the first place," John confirmed wholeheartedly and felt Sherlock squeezing his hand simultaneously.

"Finally. Took you long enough," was all Angelo said and led them to _their_ table in front of the window.

They both purposely ordered the same food that they had on their first night at Angelo's all those years ago, but this time, Angelo brought them each a glass of the finest Italian Prosecco he could find with a quiet "Congratulation, guys. Don't mess this up."

"We certainly don't intend to," Sherlock replied seriously.

Around nine thirty they finally had emptied their bottle of white wine and finished desert and without needing to say it out loud, they both knew that now was the perfect time to go back to Baker Street. Feeling light from the wine they had and thoroughly happy, Sherlock left the money for the dinner on the table and they left Angelo's hand in hand.

The night was fresh and cold and they stayed very close together on their way home.

John had trouble inserting the key into the lock of the front door of 221B, because Sherlock's hands were suddenly everywhere.

"Sherlock, wait," John said laughing. "Let's get inside first."

"But I can't wait one minute longer," Sherlock said into his ear, his voice deep and very sexy. It went straight to John's groin.

Finally, the door opened and they stumbled up the stairs and into the living room. Sherlock was tugging at John's jacket and finally John turned around and allowed Sherlock to kiss him. Open-mouthed, wet and hot.

"Sherlock," he managed to say between kisses, "bedroom. Now."

Sherlock removed his coat and let it slide on the floor, already pushing John towards the bedroom door.

"I can't believe this is finally happening," Sherlock whispered and opened the bedroom to push John into the room and on the bed.

"Me, too."

John let himself fall on the bed, grinning widely.

"Come here, love."

Sherlock slowly lay on top of John, still fully clothed and slowly kissed him.

After several long, deep kisses he stopped and just looked into John's eyes for a long moment.

"Are you nervous?"

"A bit," John admitted. "Never done this before with a man, you know."

"Never done it at all," Sherlock admitted.

"I love you, Sherlock. That's all that matters."

"I love you, too, John."

They slowly undressed each other and were lying naked on the bed, staring at each other's bodies in the dim light of Sherlock's bedroom, with a smile on their faces.

"Touch me, John."

These were the last words spoken for a long while in Sherlock's bedroom.

* * *

The next morning, John woke up by being kissed on his back. Sherlock's hand was slowly stroking his stomach and made its way down to John's crotch.

It seemed that a part of him was certainly already more awake than he was.

"Morning, Sherlock."

"Good morning, John." John could practically hear the smile in Sherlock's voice.

"I am an old man and have in no way recovered yet from last night," he complained half-heartedly.

"Don't you dare lie to me, John," Sherlock said in that deep voice that made John's heart speed up in no time and grabbed his already hard cock in the same moment.

They got up around noon that day and when John finally padded into the kitchen, dressed only in Sherlock's nightgown to make coffee, his phone rang.

It was Mycroft.

"Mycroft."

"John. Are you decent?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm downstairs in my car, about to come up."

"Just… give us five minutes."

He ended the call.

"Shit. Sherlock!" he called back into the bathroom where Sherlock had a shower.

"What is it?"

"Mycroft's going to be here in…four minutes."

"Congratulations, brother dear. You finally realized it then?" Mycroft greeted Sherlock.

Sherlock realized there was no need to deny anything. It was most likely his brother had seen what they were up to through the camera that had a good view on their front door.

"Thank you, Mycroft," he said honestly, without blushing.

"We're very happy," he added quietly.

"I can see that," Mycroft said, his voice unusually warm.

"Why are you here, Mycroft? Certainly not only to check up on my virginity." Sherlock asked bluntly.

"Mary. I think she will stay in Rome long enough until you're fully recovered. So take your time to heal and we'll use the time to make a plan. She's mostly doing sightseeing and she seems to have found a friend in her neighbour. She's reading English newspapers everyday and will most likely have seen this one here, too."

Mycroft handed them yesterday's edition of the Daily Mail where a picture showed the two of them holding hands in Regent's Park.

"Shit," John said quietly.

"How adequately said," Mycroft replied.

"We don't mind," Sherlock explained. "Perhaps she already knows I survived anyway. And now she's aware what she's up against. She will fear that we'll come and get her. So how can you be sure that she won't leave Rome now that she knows?"

"Because she's sure that we didn't find her."

"How can _you_ be so sure about that?"

"Because her lovely neighbour that she has befriended so easily is one of our agents."

"How did you…?" John started but then decided he didn't want to know.

"Because it's my job, John."

* * *

Another two weeks later, Sherlock was finally given a clean bill of health and he felt fit enough to hunt down Mary.

With Mycroft's agent in place it was easy to keep track on her and Mary seemed to trust her new "friend" to a certain extent. She had admitted she had "escaped" from an unhappy relationship in England and was now trying to make a new start in Italy.

John and Sherlock were already on their way to the airport when Mycroft called with the latest information.

"Claudia told me that she and Mary are going to visit the Castel St. Angelo the day after tomorrow. Does that give you enough time to plan something or will you wait for the next opportunity?"

"We'll check it out tomorrow morning. I'll call you," Sherlock replied.

"The Castel St. Angelo is a very public place. I am not sure if it's not better to approach her in her own flat, with Claudia nearby," Sherlock said already deep in thought.

"Though it might be easier for Mycroft's people to close down one part of that castle instead of a whole neighbourhood," John argued.

"True. Let's take a look tomorrow."

They took a taxi to their hotel in midtown Rome. It was an old building with newly renovated suites and Sherlock had selected it, although Mycroft was paying. Generously.

John hadn't expressed any wishes about their hotel so Sherlock had decided he should select a nice one for their first stay as a couple in a hotel. Even if their purpose was to hunt down Mary, he hoped he could still share some romantic moments with John.

He had to roll his eyes about his own thoughts. Did love do such things to the human mind? Search for a hotel room not with criteria of its functionality but the romantic surroundings it could provide? What a sentimental man he had become and in no time at all. But still, the newfound feeling of happiness had yet to fade and he knew it would not any time soon.

He and John held hands during their taxi ride.

Sherlock was aware that John was a bit nervous about their mission.

In a quiet moment a couple of days ago in their flat, John had admitted that he still feared Mary. He was still afraid she would try to shoot Sherlock again and finish her job.

They were both still wondering if she had found out by now that Moriarty was really dead and that his sudden TV presence had been fake.

Sherlock himself only felt anticipation about their upcoming task. He would be happy if it all was finally over soon and could concentrate on his usual job again – and his relationship with John of course.

His mind drifted to the last couple of weeks and he had to smile.

Waking up next to John was the best thing he could think of. Restful sleep, next to no nightmares, entangled limbs and a lot of naked skin. They needed ages to get out of the bed every morning and Mrs Hudson always openly smiled at them when they finally left the flat around noon to get some breakfast or lunch.

John had obviously come to terms with being in love with a man now for the first time in his life and never even looked at women again these days. Sherlock hoped that this development would be a constant thing because he had watched John during his other relationships and he had always eyes on beautiful women, regardless if he was in a relationship or not.

He knew that he would not survive it if John left him again one day.

Finally, Sherlock had found someone that he accepted him the way he was. Full stop.

He would do everything to ensure John's happiness. The first hurdle they'd have to take for that hopefully was their biggest one to come: getting rid of Mary.

* * *

John secretly smiled when Sherlock took his hand in the taxi. Sherlock was the most romantic partner he had ever had. Who would have thought?

It seemed that Sherlock was entirely focused on him alone when they were kissing, cuddling in bed, sitting with a whisky in front of their fireplace. He would not be distracted by his phone or potential clients banging at their front door.

He was the most attentive partner he had ever had. For the first time in a relationship, he did not miss anything.

There was still the usual bickering without real fights, good meals at Angelo's or just take away food in front of the TV, absolutely no boredom, a lot of kissing and gorgeous sex.

John decided that their relationship being based on their deep friendship was the best thing that could happen to a couple. Knowing each other's worst secrets and _still_ falling in love with each other. Perhaps it should not always take four years to get to that point for everyone, but for them it had been the perfect way.

When John opened the door to their hotel room, his jaw dropped. It was a large and rather beautiful renovated suite. More luxurious than all hotel rooms he'd ever been in his life. A perfect mixture of modernity and Art-déco style.

"Sherlock, this is…", he started but was lost for words.

"I know. As I said, Mycroft was rather…generous. I like it, too. Come on inside."

They stepped into the spacious hotel room while the page boy brought in their luggage behind them. John took off his jacket and went for the bathroom, which turned out to be a walk-in closet with the bathroom attached.

"This must be something like a presidential suite, Sherlock. Why would Mycroft do this for us?"

Sherlock certainly wouldn't tell John about the pre-wedding honeymoon that Mycroft had mentioned when he realized just how much in love his younger brother really was.

"I don't know, really. Perhaps he wanted us to be as comfortable as possible for the job."

John instantly knew that was not what Mycroft had said but he let it go. It wasn't important.

* * *

The next morning, Mary woke up because someone was knocking on her door. On nine a.m. in the morning. She hated being woken up for no reason and hoped it was important, whoever was at her door.

She grabbed her gun and put it in the waistband of her pyjama trousers.

Slowly, she opened the door. It was Claudia.

"Morning, Claudia," she greeted her friend and let her annoyance show about the early disturbance. "What is it?"

"Not a morning person, eh?" Her friend asked with a large smile.

"Not really. What do you want?" Mary asked again.

"Breakfast with you. And then Castel St Angelo today, you _do_ remember we've planned that for today, do you? Come on, it's a beautiful day."

"I'd thought we'd go in the afternoon," she replied, still unhappy and not really awake.

"Does it matter? It's the first real warm day outside and I just couldn't wait to go outside. Don't waste this day in bed."

Claudia is right, Mary thought, and perhaps she had found the first real friend she ever had here. A person who wanted to spend time with her just for her sake. Her bad mood evaporated quickly.

"Give me half an hour. I need to shower first. And thank you." She smiled and suddenly felt bad about the gun in her waistband.

"Okay, just knock when you're ready."

An hour later found them both walking towards the Castel St Angelo, where Sherlock Holmes and John Watson would be waiting for Mary. Claudia had called the two men as soon as she had closed her door behind her after her talk with Mary.

"I'll make sure to take her to the Hall of Perseus on the fourth floor. No worries. I look forward to meeting you two."

John and Sherlock had used the day to make themselves a little familiar with the city and Castel, of course. Despite the tension and anticipation they felt, they were still able to make the most of it. During the two the evenings, the couple had enjoyed meals in Rome's best trattorias and during the nights, the hotel room.

Now they were getting ready for the final confrontation with Mary. It was warm outside although it was only the middle of April. John needed to hide his gun somewhere so he wore a cardigan over his t-shirt, Sherlock wore a blue suit and looked almost like his old self before Mary had shot him. The last days out in the sun and the air had done him good.

"John," he began quietly, "I need you to know that whatever happens today, that I love you. If you want to kill Mary, it will be fine, and if you can't that's fine as well. Just be careful, but you can be sure I've got your back."

"I know, Sherlock. And I love you, too."

Finally, they were entering the Castel around ten thirty. They were already tourists there, but the crowd was still manageable for them and Mycroft's men.

Mary and Claudia were supposed to arrive in the next quarter hour and they lost no time and went up to the Hall of Perseus. Mycroft's men would ensure that the fourth floor would be cleared of tourists as soon as Mary and Claudia entered it.

John wondered silently why he didn't feel nervous any more, now that it was really happening. He knew the confrontation with Mary would not be easy and he had Sherlock with him and somehow this made it all a lot more bearable.

He had asked himself several times during the last couple of weeks how he had managed the last four years without being in a relationship with Sherlock. Life was pretty perfect right now and would be even better after Mary's demise. He took a deep breath. _Right. Concentrate. Sentiment later._

They carefully hid behind a large statue in the Hall of Perseus and waited for Mary's arrival.

Almost half an hour later, they finally heard footsteps approaching.

Mary and Claudia entered the room. Mary's hair was now dark and shorter and it didn't suit her, Sherlock decided instantly. Next to him, he heard John inhaling sharply, then they both stepped forward when the two women were standing in the middle of the room.

Mycroft's men had already closed the door from the outside and were securing the area.

"Mary." Just one word from John made Mary freeze completely and pull out her gun simultaneously.

"John, what a surprise."

"Mary?" Claudia asked, still maintaining her role.

"John, what do you want?" Mary asked, disregarding Claudia completely.

"Justice."

Mary scoffed a laugh at that.

"Justice? Come on John. You are allowed to call it revenge. After all, I did shoot your boyfriend."

She turned to Sherlock. "Why are you not dead?"

"Because John saved me," he said in a quiet, threatening tone.

"What a shame, because I still need to kill you. Now, as it seems. That was Moriarty's order."

"Moriarty's dead."

"I'm sure you saw the same thing on TV as I did in January, didn't you, Sherlock."

"Yes, because I was the one who had the idea for the broadcast. Didn't see that one coming, did you?"

Mary's façade finally fell. "He's really dead?"

"Yes, he is," John now re-joined the conversation.

"Give up, Mary. Moriarty's dead and you just confirmed you tried to kill Sherlock. It's over. Mycroft's men are outside and they will take you back to England, where you will stay under arrest for a very long time."

"No, I won't," Mary replied, her tone icy, holding out her gun in Sherlock's direction.

Simultaneously, John pulled his gun and pointed it towards Mary.

"I guess we can call this stalemate, John."

"No, you can't," Claudia spoke up, now holding a gun herself, pointing at Mary.

"You? You are a part of this? How can that be? I've only just met you."

"Yes, but you seemed to like me anyway. I might say I've succeeded in my task to befriend you," Claudia replied smugly.

"Who are you working for?" Mary asked, her expression now full of resentment for her new friend.

"Mycroft Holmes. I'm MI6. And I've been preparing this with these two fine men for a while now. Give up, Mary. It's over."

"You bitch! I trusted you!"

"That was also my intention," Claudia replied with a grin. "It seems I was successful."

"No, you weren't." Mary turned, gun in hand, in Claudia's direction.

Two loud simultaneous shots echoed through the ancient Hall and Mary hit the ground soon after. John and Sherlock had both shot her at the same time. John into the right shoulder to prevent her from shooting, Sherlock into her knee so that she was no longer able to stand or walk. She was screaming in pain and anger.

John walked over to her, gun still pointing at her.

"It is over, Mary, give up. You know, I could shoot you here and now and nobody except Sherlock, Mycroft and Claudia would ever know or blame me for it. But I want you to live with the knowledge that you never managed to kill Sherlock. And that you never really had my heart. I know that now and you need to know that, too. Goodbye, Mary."

"John! Please, you can't do that."

John and Sherlock left the room without another word, Claudia followed them silently.

The room was now filling with Mycroft's special forces and paramedics and they would take care of Mary. She was no longer of interest for Sherlock, John or Claudia.

* * *

In the evening, Claudia was invited by John and Sherlock for dinner at their hotel. They had both liked her instantly, despite her being one of Mycroft's colleagues. And if Sherlock was really honest with himself, Mycroft hadn't been all bad in the last couple of weeks. He had helped them a great deal and had confirmed in the afternoon that Mary would be locked away for the rest of her life after her trial. And that they could stay in Rome for another week if they wanted to.

They had agreed instantly.

"Claudia, good evening."

"John, Sherlock. It's good to see you."

They sat down at their assigned table and a small silence fell after the waiter had taken the order for their drinks.

"So, how are you both feeling after today's events? Everything all right?"

"Yeah, I guess we are," John answered. "I think I will need a day or two to realize that she is no longer a threat to us. And you?"

"Not a problem. I only befriended her doing my job and I never liked her. She could be fun doing those touristy things but in the end you knew she was almost never honest when she talked about herself. I do wonder if she still knew who she was in the end. All those identities."

John nodded. "You must be wondering why I fell for her."

"I do, indeed," she acknowledged.

"Do you know our history? What did Mycroft tell you?" Sherlock spoke up.

"Only bits and pieces."

"Sherlock and I were best friends as soon as we met four years ago. We clicked instantly," John started explaining.

"We were solving crimes together and I could not imagine leading another life again. Then Moriarty showed up and ruined everything. In short terms, Sherlock had to fake suicide and went to chase down Moriarty's people for almost two years. I didn't know any of that and grieved him for more than a year. I was depressed, not able to work and as alone as I was before we met. Then I started working again because I had to do _something_ and met Mary at work in my clinic. She was nice and understanding and listened to me, although I must have talked about Sherlock all the time. I guess I fell for her because she was there and she made me feel better. I could see my life get moving again. Then, _he_ came back and he went back to be the most important thing in my life again in no time at all."

He stopped and took Sherlock's hand.

"And then it took me a couple of weeks to realize that I loved him all along."

Claudia smiled at him. "That's quite obvious. You look at him as if he is your whole world. It's cute."

"Yeah, he is," John admitted quietly.

Their drinks arrived.

Later that night, Sherlock made sure to let John know just how much he loved him. Their evening with Claudia had been nice and they invited her to visit them if she had to come to London for her work.

After John had fallen asleep, Sherlock lay in their bed, wide awake, making plans for the upcoming week.

He was aware that it was still very soon in their relationship but waiting for four years to realize that you were actually in love with your best friend, he found that they had wasted enough time. He just hoped that John would say yes.

They've spent the week mostly as tourists, only two quick debriefings with Mycroft via Skype interrupted their free time.

Starting with the Colloseum at their first free day, they visited all of Rome's attractions one after the other. In the evenings they were exhausted and their feet hurt, but they found they loved the ancient city. They almost never spoke about Mary anymore and Sherlock found that he had never felt any better in his life. It was the right time to do this.

On their last evening, Sherlock booked a table in one of the city's best restaurants. It was overlooking the city and was on top of one of Rome's hills.

He had not had time to buy a ring but he knew that this would not be important for John. Before they left and were dressing up for the evening, John joined Sherlock in front of the mirror.

"You are looking way too good tonight. You will be the attraction of the restaurant."

"John, you are certainly not the best person to judge my appearance. You love me," he answered dryly.

John laughed at that. "Are you okay, Sherlock?" He asked, being serious now.

"You've been kind of quiet all day."

Sherlock had to admit himself that he _was_ nervous. What if he had interpreted it all wrong? He was a newcomer to relationships, after all. Deciding at once it was too late for worrying, he willed the thought away.

"Yes, just a bit sad it's our last evening," he said, not exactly lying. He looked forward to being home again, but this week had been wonderful, despite its beginning.

"Yeah, me too."

Dinner was delicious and John deliberately ignored the prices on the menu. It was time to celebrate and they enjoyed seafood, delicious wine and the best tiramisu they had ever had for desert. Conversation was light over dinner and they were planning what to do next when they were back in London. Lestrade had already called about a case they could help with.

"We should try and take time off more often. I love going on holiday with you far too much, you know," John said with a broad smile

"Yeah, about that, I need to talk to you later," Sherlock said smugly.

"Our next holiday? You're already making plans?" John was surprised. Usually, all Sherlock cared about was work and after already two holidays this year alone he would guess that it would take Sherlock at least another year to be ready for the next one.

"Yes, but let's pay first and get outside."

Soon after, they were standing on the terrace of the restaurant that overlooked the whole of Rom. Vatican City stood out easily in the darkness and the view was breath-taking.

"John." Sherlock began quietly. Hell, he _was_ nervous.

"Yes?" John turned to face Sherlock, laying a hand on his cheek and then kissed him softly.

"You're not making this any easier, you know," Sherlock said very quietly after the kiss had ended.

"Making what easier?"

"Asking you to marry me. Listen, I know we haven't been together for long but I can't think about anything else anymore. I want to spent the rest of my life with you, as my partner. Will you marry me, John Hamish Watson?"

"Oh God, Sherlock, yes! Of course, yes a thousand times." He stepped forward and kissed Sherlock again, deeply and with all the emotions he felt for Sherlock. After a long time, he couldn't say if it had been one or then minutes, he broke the kiss.

"So you were talking about our honeymoon earlier? You know, I almost can't believe this is really happening. I would never have thought that would want to marry at all. I have thought about this, too, but I thought you would see this as too sentimental or stupid."

"No. I realized that I quite like being sentimental when I'm around you. I need the world to know you're mine."

"I am, Sherlock."

They went back to to the hotel arm in arm, stopping every now and then for long kisses.

Later that night, it was John lying awake in their shared bed. He thought back to how it all had started. Sherlock had told him on their way back to the hotel that the Bonfire incident was the day his eyes were opened about his feelings for John. He hadn't been able to identify them as love until their holiday in Cornwall but something had happened that night.

They still hadn't solved the mystery why John had to suffer through that night because even Mycroft hadn't been able to link it back to Mary and they would have to solve this one once they were back in London. Then there was also Lestrade's case and he would have to tell the clinic that he would only be working one day a week there, just to stay in practice.

He found himself looking forward to go back to London tomorrow, to their new life free of Mary and new cases and soon to come married life. John finally fell asleep with a smile on his face.


End file.
